


I Never Sleep 'Cause Sleep Is The Cousin To Death

by cameronfrye, toothpastefairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Black Hermione Granger, Britain, British English, Canon Era, Desi Harry Potter, Drarry, Emo, England (Country), Fluff, Gay Panic, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Music, Nineties, Nineties Hip Hop, Original Character(s), Scotland, Slow Burn, Summer, Tea, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, countryside, emo Draco, non-binary blaise zabini, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameronfrye/pseuds/cameronfrye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothpastefairy/pseuds/toothpastefairy
Summary: AU Draco is turned in to a werewolf in the summer of '96, between 5th and 6th year at Hogwarts. After a long summer, he returns to Hogwarts a changed man with a new look and mindset.





	1. Cool Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Cool Cat by Queen

~

_Ooh, you used to be a mean kid_

_Mm, making such a deal of life_

_Ooh, you were wishing and hoping and waiting_

_To really hit the big time_

_But did it happen, happen?_

_No, you're speeding too fast_

_Slow down, slow down, you'd better slow down_

_Slow down_

~

Somewhere outside Kershope forest, along the border of Scotland, a milkman was starting his rounds. It had been an especially scorching week for July, but John was grateful that the humidity hadn’t set in yet for the day as the sun rose. John Armstrong exited his lonning in his van onto the B road heading towards Newcastleton, lined with dry stone walls, wilting bracken and the odd farm steading. He was enjoying a particularly animated version of O Fortuna on Classic FM, while he steered with one hand and drank his tea in the other, speeding past yellowing fields of wild grass and waking sheep.

About a mile ahead, lying amongst the bracken a lone wizard, recently turned werewolf, was battling to stay conscious after a traumatic first transformation. Images of mossy trees and the torn ligaments of a deer’s left haunch flashed in his mind while the scent of iron, pine and new leaves jarred his senses. He jolted upright and tried to lift his arm, inducing white hot pain through his shivering body.

Quickly glancing down, he saw his arm was limp, a crusty gash ran up his forearm to meet his dislocated shoulder.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself down, he took in his surroundings. Realising he was without his wand he felt vulnerable, exposed and acutely aware of his isolation. The forest was out of the question, too freshly stained with horror, but the scene before him was equally unfamiliar.

All of a sudden, the wizard heard a faint rumbling in the distance as the Armstrong’s family van truckled along the scarred country road. The wizard knew that this muggle was his greatest chance of getting home. So ass to the wind, he hauled his battered and blood splattered body towards the dry stone wall.

Inside the van, the were drums sounding and the choir was screeching at full volume, when John noticed a gory, dislocated arm swing over the wall a few yards in front of his van. Throwing his tea in the air, swearing profusely as the scalding liquid seeped into his workmen’s jeans, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and promptly veered off the road into the ditch.

Horrified, he locked the doors and revved the engine to escape the shrubbery, when he found his eyes locked with a rather red pair of teenage ones. The boy had landed in the ferns below and was yelling a series of strange obscenities before panting and lying still. John was frozen in his seat with shock, watching the boy’s shallow breaths condense in the morning air.

What had been a rather good start to the morning had turned into something from a cheap, paperback gothic novel. Dazed, he slowly opened the van door, heaved himself off his seat and went to check on the boy.

Bending down to feel the clammy forehead of the teen with the back of his hand, John asked

“Y’ alright?”

A groan was his answer.

“Let's get you off to the GP then laddie.”

Peering up at John with one eye open, a brief look of confusion took over the boy’s features. After looking at him for another two seconds John added, “Maybe I should lend you a jumper?”. He received a slow nod of the affirmative nature and John went to the van to get his spare fleece.

Slowly easing the teen into a sitting position, he edged the fleece over his head and supported his weight with his arms. He then lifted the boy to his feet, and was grateful to see the fleece had preserved his modesty until his knobbly knees. A few shaky steps and they were in the van and off to the GP’s house with four pints of milk and a medical emergency.

-

The young werewolf slowly became aware of his surroundings as he squinted his eyes in the harsh white light. He was lying in a narrow bed with crisp, white sheets pulled tightly over him and the sharp smell of chemicals overwhelmed him.

He felt like death incarnate as his head throbbed along to the pounding of his heart and his hair clung to his sweaty forehead.

Apart from the bed he was currently in, there was little to no furniture and the white door of his room was firmly shut.

The walls were bare and painted a creamy shade of white, the carpeted floor was a sickly green sort of colour, and a large window to his left let natural light filter through mesh curtains.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, he suddenly felt keenly embarrassed and exposed, and glanced down to see that he was indeed still wearing the fleece he’d been put into earlier that morning. A wave of shame overwhelmed him as he thought of someone seeing him so vulnerable and defenceless.

Peeling back the covers, he eased himself out of the creaking bed. A pile of muggle clothes were left on a chair and he hurriedly put them on. He then made his way towards the closed window and saw that he was on the ground floor, so he pushed open the window and left the clinic.

There isn’t much to Newcastleton, there never was and never will be, but in ‘92 Eir Timmings opened a music store called The Glass Onion, and that’s where the wizard found himself. Timmings looked like the late Kurt Cobain, complete with shaggy hair, Dr Martens and a Harley Davidson. His height caused him to be permanently hunched over to duck the beams in the shop. The Glass Onion smelt of damp musk due to Eir’s consistent use of dope in the upstairs apartment, and occasionally on a quiet day, behind the till.

Eir was opening the shop when he saw the kid outside, just staring listlessly at the hand painted sign. It struck him that he must have looked like that once too, and went outside to offer him a cup of tea.

“Y’alright, lad? Want a cuppa?”

The wizard stared at the muggle before muttering a yes and following Eir inside. The wizard ignored Eir who was trying to question him, as he looked astonished moving through the shop. The record player was blaring some tunes and the wizard interrupted Eir to ask what was playing.

“You don’t know this song? It’s ‘With A Little Help From My Friends’ by The Beatles! It’s a fucking classic, man!”

The wizard looked at him and decided it was best not to ask how it was being played, afraid of the indignant tone. Eir wondered what kind of a person would’ve managed to escape Beatlemania and decided that the boy couldn’t leave his shop without some musical education.

“Where are you from? You sound funny.”

The wizard looked appalled at Eir’s direct attitude for a moment, before answering that he indeed was not a local.

“You haven’t run away have you? Look I know parents and life can get bad but running away or getting hooked on smack is never the answer.”

He gives the young wizard a pointed look. At this point, the boy just nodded not understanding ‘smack’ but was stunned that this slightly grubby man knew he was struggling. No one ever seen through him like this before.

“What’s your name then lad? I’m Eir, the owner of this fine shop. Curator of music and brownies.”

Quietly the wizard introduced himself, “I am Draco Malfoy, could you show me some more music?”


	2. The World Is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Eir bond over Earl Grey, The Beatles and chips. Later on, Narcissa takes Draco back to their summer house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: The World Is Yours by Nas
> 
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> .. also Eir (it's pronounced 'eye-ur' for those wondering) is a massive babe

_~_

_I can't call it, the beats make me fallin' asleep_

_I keep fallin', but never fallin' six feet deep_

_I'm out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)_

_I'm out for presidents to represent me (Say what?)_

_I'm out for dead presidents to represent me_

_Whose world is this?_

_The world is yours, the world is yours_

_[...]_

_All the old folks pray_

_To Jesús, soakin' their sins in trays of holy water_

_Odds against Nas are slaughter_

_Thinkin' a word best describin' my life to name my daughter_

_My strength, my son, the star will be my resurrection_

_Born in correction, all the wrong shit I did_

_He'll lead a right direction_

_~_

Draco gave a weak smile as he was handed a massive, chipped mug from some amusement park which was filled with saccharin milky tea. If anyone he knew were to see him now, cradling tea against his chest, no less from a muggle, they would be stupefied. He watched with bewilderment as Eir lifted the needle and changed the record, and sounds from New York city played.

Eir had chosen this particular record, Illmatic, as it had helped him to define himself after relapsing two years prior. He was under the impression that Draco was himself, going through the same struggle of addiction, and felt that this was important for him to share.

Draco was perched on top of the stool behind the counter, all four long limbs folded like a nervous child being berated. Pale and otherwise sickly looking, one could be forgiven for assuming he is a junkie. Sunken in eyes, fresh scars and exposed splotches of bruises reaffirmed the heroin junkie stereotype.

Settling in opposite him, Eir begins to express his concerns.

“I don’t want you to think I am prying where I’m not wanted, but let me tell you this. Life goes on, the present turns into the past and the past fades. Like cars and trends and clothes, shit goes away, you’ll forget it. Instant comfort when you fail or disappoint or someone hurts you is dangerous, it doesn’t fix anything. It’s all shit that goes away eventually. You’ll just make things worse.”

Eir looked at Draco earnestly, who to be frank wasn’t entirely sure what this muggle thought his issues were, but appreciated the sentiment. Usually pity or sympathy would be rebutted with a scathing comment, insult or retort, an instinct impressed upon him by his father.

However, the last fortnight had changed his life so suddenly, so thoroughly, he was reflecting for first time in his life. His past actions filled him with an overwhelming sense of shame, and now silence was more agreeable, at least until he understood this new Draco.

“Look lad, you can spend time ‘ere if you want. Listen to some music, hell, even work here to keep you out of trouble before school starts again. But you need to go home to your parents and start getting clean. You got a place nearby?”

Draco contemplated the offer. Since the Dark Lord had cursed his family, Draco and Narcissa had been at the summer house to figure out the new ‘normal’. Draco knew his father just couldn’t look at him.

“You’ll show me more music?”

Eir just chuckled and nodded.

“Yeah alright but you will have to work for it.”

Draco nodded. Never having had a job before, too demeaning for a Malfoy, he decided that this suited this new chapter of his life.

The last month had been a nightmare. The Malfoy’s and Black’s had always been proud, pureblood families with ancestry dating back to the Medieval ages, which administered plenty of pressure for all affiliated. The Dark Lord was the radicalised essence of the drivel that drove many of the pureblood families, and his father. It was this that lead to his father’s punishment. Shame, dishonour, humiliation. Draco was suspicious of muggles, muggle-borns witches and wizards and half-bloods, he was always told they were lesser. But lately muggles had been kinder than his own father. And he was a dark creature, a monster. Not any better than the scum on a muggle’s shoe.

Draco raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile "Really?". He looked around the clustered little shop, considering Eir's offer. The walls were covered with film posters, newspapers and magazines as a cheap alternative to wallpaper, and shelves were concave, bursting with records, cassettes and VHS tapes. The counter beside Draco was sticky, plastered with stickers, stained with mug rings and tea splatters. He gestured to the clunky machine with too many buttons, sitting proudly atop the counter and said, "Alright then. But you'll have to show me what to do with that… _thing_."

"Oh! You mean this lil' beauty?"

"I wouldn't ever accuse it of being beautiful."

"Well, if you're going to be like that, I don't think we could ever get along. You obviously have zero taste."

-

Eir had gotten them their tea from the local chippy, made more earl grey than Draco could have and they had worked through most of the Beatles’ discography. Draco had to agree, the Beatles were the best band in history and that - privately - muggle music was better than anything the wizarding world could ever produce.

The Sgt. Pepper’s album was in his hand, his fingers traced the faces and the flowers. Eir was pre rolling some fags, lining them up in a matchbox, before starting on some thin joints padded out with spare ‘baccy.

_*CRACK*_

It was the unmistakable boom of someone apparating. Eir was startled and Draco sighed, he knew it was time to go home. A moment passed before the shop wind chimes tinkled and the door opened, revealing a stiff, middle aged woman in a long, ebony coat. He had hoped it was the house elf.

“Draco. Come.”

Eir didn’t move or address the lady, he sensed - quite correctly - that this woman would not welcome or appreciate any gestures he would make. He watched as Draco placed the vinyl cover down, fold up the lyric sheet and stalk towards his mother. Draco kept his head down. The two left quickly and a crack sounded shortly before the door of the store rested in it’s frame.

-

A number of miles away, Kielder Water lay still in the hazy sunset. Pine trees, towering above the horizon and browning in the summer heat, hugged the banks of the reservoir. Hues of pastel pink, purple and blue were mirrored in the water, the moon tucked the sun into bed behind the silhouetted peaks. Beneath the glassy surface, silver finned trout and carp circled the glowing kelp-coated towers of Yarrow Manor. Years of algae had stained the thick granite walls a dark shade of green, the Malfoy family crest barely visible above the huge, mahogany doors. Spectral yellow lights formed a perimeter between the manor and the blue-green gloom of the reservoir.

A deafening crack resonated off the forest, amplified in the lake’s bowl. Retching soon followed and the night sky was shattered as a ripple broke out from the centre of Kielder Water. A cross appeared dripping and green, succeeded by the small, eighteenth century watch house that served as the gate to Yarrow manor. Smooth, slate stones rose soon after and Narcissa Malfoy dragged her disorientated son across them, into the building.


	3. Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco returns home for the night and is patched up by his mother, Narcissa. The next day he returns to the music shop, the Glass Onion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Yesterday by the Beatles
> 
> Heavy mention of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album by The Beatles
> 
> 'fag' = cigarette in Britain

~

_Yesterday_

_All my troubles seemed so far away_

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay_

_Oh, I believe in yesterday_

_Suddenly I'm not half the man I used to be_

_There's a shadow hanging over me_

_Oh, yesterday came suddenly …_

~

Narcissa had gone to get murtlap essence from her supplies, leaving Draco alone in the dining hall. She had hastily assessed his wounds and tutted at the primitive muggle medicine. A few diagnostic and healing spells later, he was feeling immensely better, but had still not said a word. Narcissa didn’t initiate any conversation either.

The familiar echoing allegretto vivace of heels instinctively straightened Draco’s spine and had him cast his eyes down at the marble floor. Narcissa entered the hall and put the jar beside her son on the table before telling him to apply it every three hours to his abrasions. A pervasive, heavy silence filled the air between them as Draco slipped off the table and stood beside his mother.

“Thank you, mother.”

Narcissa lifted her chin and looked at the portraits above the long, mahogany table, “Your father and I weren’t sure you would survive the first transformation.”. Draco stood still and mute, eyes firmly fixed on his leather, muggle shoes with yellow stitching. She took a deep breath and continued, “But you did.”. Draco nodded and lifted his head and gaze to look at Narcissa’s locket resting between her clavicles - a silver family heirloom. It burned his nostrils.

“Good night mother.”

“Good night Draco.”

Narcissa turned and walked away swiftly, the striking of heel against stone resonated in the empty manor. A portrait hissed at Draco as he picked up the jar and exited the hall quietly after his mother, making his way to his room.

Once in his room, Draco neatly folded his muggle clothes and pulled the leather boots off, piling it all neatly in a dark corner. He ran a bath and soaked his bruised body in lavender scented water, which quickly became murky. Clean and warm, he padded to his bed and fiddled with his wand, wishing he could use it. He wanted some flowers, or some turkish delights or whatever. Abruptly his chin trembled and his vision blurred. Ducking beneath his sheets and blankets, Draco’s face screwed up and he sobbed for the first time in years. Ugly hot tears ran down his face and he struggled to breathe. Softness, warmth and honeysuckle sweetness was all he wanted. All he needed. Ever.

“And ... and now I am a werewolf!” he sobbed aloud. Unable to cast a silencing spell around his room, Draco emitted strangled sobs as he tried to stop bawling. Lungs tightened and his heart imploded, he choked and thought he was dying. He couldn’t breathe. He was having a heart attack. What if someone saw him like this? What if his father saw him like this? What if someone found out about the furry issue? Who would be friends with him? Who would love him? What if he killed someone? What if he turned someone? What if he he he … What if he hurt the village? Could he turn a muggle? It struck him that he was being uncharacteristically concerned about muggles but Eir had really left his mark. Gasping his lungs started working as his thoughts turned to Eir, the musky, muggle, music man. He was going back to the store. He had to. Rocking gently and wiping his tears away, Draco hummed ‘Yesterday’ to himself.

“ _Yesterday_

_All my troubles seemed so far away_

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay..._ ”

He started crying again, but this time his face didn’t scrunch up like a pug, his tears slid from lush lashes and his breathing leveled. Gradually, Draco slid down and hugged his pillow, humming all the while.

-

Eir was locking up the store and putting the last few vinyls back in order after Draco and him raided his personal favourites. His mind kept wandering to the kid, sharp and brittle, and undoubtedly a junkie in his mind. Back in Finland when he was a teen, Eir had known plenty friends getting hooked on rocks and silver spoon highs. They were rebelling against winter and the long, long nights they faced. When he came to England he went to Liverpool - cocaine capital - and saw the same escapism, this time driven by class. In Britain, it’s always about class. Draco, Eir decided, wasn’t a privileged ninny or from an estate, but he also wasn’t part of the middle order. The lad was suitably something else, undeniably beaten and frightened.

The Sgt. Pepper’s album and it parts were strewn across his counter after Draco’s swift strange departure. The woman, most likely his guardian or social worker, had been strikingly beautiful with sharp cheekbones and thin brows. Eir thought about her and shook his head, there was no compassion between the woman and lad. He grabbed the lyric sheet and a pen clattered on to the floor from between the folds of the paper. Unfolding the sheet, Eir saw that ‘Good Morning Good Morning’ has been underlined from the tracklist and ‘9 am’ written beside it. Several other lines had been marked like ‘It's wonderful to be here’, ‘I admit it's getting better’ and ‘I've got nothing to say but it's OK’. Eir smiled.

-

Draco woke up, face sore and mouth dry, to the sound of a house elf running his bath. The grandfather clock in the hallway sounded seven chimes, and the elf left on the seventh ring. His limbs were heavy, body molded into the bed and he decided to stay there for eternity. Several minutes passed, apathetic and dull. A pop let him know the elf was back, he opened his eyes and saw his muggle boots deposited in the centre of the room, polished and gleaming. The fleece and jeans from yesterday were also clean, waiting for him next to the shoes. Draco rolled over to escape the sight of them, but it was too late, the Beatles invaded his mind and Eir was beckoning him to the Glass Onion. Guilt and curiosity are amazing motivators.

In the bath he sunk beneath the bubbles and held his breath until his lungs burned and his ear canals were swamped. It was warm, hushed and soothing like a mother’s womb. Afterwards he dressed in his muggle clothes and went to the kitchen, rubber soles creeping along the dark halls. Since being bitten, the elves had become an unusual source of comfort and remorse. The creatures had often been the victims of the Malfoy’s cruelty, lesser beings lucky enough to be serving a pure household. Dirty rodents that Lucius used to teach Draco the importance of hierarchy, tradition and punishment. Now he was on their level, perhaps lower, and it wasn’t lost on the elves. They didn’t trust each other, but Draco didn’t hurt them or taunt them anymore. So in return, the elves allowed him into the kitchen to hide and eat.

Hash browns and bacon and eggs and mushrooms and buttered toast and sausages were piled high on a steaming plate. The elves had laid out some cutlery with the handles wrapped in linen strips. The Malfoy’s silverware was the real deal, a daily torture for Draco whose impeccable manners were to be maintained along with the polished cutlery. However, when he began to eat in the kitchen, the elves quickly learned that wrapping the cutlery handles minimised a lot of the discomfort. Draco was eternally grateful, now only his lips burned.

The kitchen was a hot, humid and sticky room in the basement area of the manor. Terracotta tiles seemed to sweat on the walls next to the huge ovens and smoking pits. The ‘kitchen’ was more than that, a whole underworld of production and order. At the far end of the hall, a massive iron clock was welded into the wall and the pendulum swung unforgivingly, the heartbeat of the house.

Once finished, Draco carefully scanned the room for a suitably unoccupied elf. He spotted one and considered his approach. He couldn’t very well go and demand something, that’s what his father would do, but he also didn’t know how to be polite to an elf. Do they have names? Customs? He knew not to give clothes - that would set them free - but what to do? He walked over to the elf and cleared his throat, the skinny creature swung round and nervously hopped foot to foot.

“I have finished my breakfast.”

Draco wanted to slap himself, he usually just left and this was highly embarrassing.

“Yes Master, Polky will clear it away.”

Ah ha! Draco thought to himself, Polky is the elf’s name.

“Urm, Polky.”

“Yes Master.”

“Can you apparate with someone.”

“Yes Master. Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Yeah, yes I do. Could you take me to the muggle town near here?”

“Yes Master.”

“At 9? Is that okay?”

“Polky can do it Master.”

“Umm thanks.”

Polky’s buggy eyes were wide and scrutinising him, along with most other elves within earshot. Malfoys don’t thank people most of the time, let alone elves. Draco quickly left as suspicion started to settle on some faces.

Draco went to see his mother in the reading room. It was eight thirty and he needed to check in with Narcissa and make some excuse for him leaving for the day. Perfect as always, she was reading at a desk, hair neatly pinned into a chignon. Knocking, he entered and stood upright, playing with the hem of his fleece.

A beat passed. Without looking up from her copy of the Daily Prophet, Narcissa said “You're free for day.”

Draco muttered his thanks, and swiftly left the room, his lips twitching upwards as he made his way to the kitchen.

-

Eir was counting the register for the day when he heard hushed voices outside the shop. A moment later, Draco - wearing the same clothes as the previous day - came staggering through the door.

“Been out on the town?”

Draco furrowed his brows, and having not fully understood, shrugged non-commitantly.

“You need aspirin? A fag?”

Eir waved his matchbox of cigarettes, with an amused look on his face. Draco remained silent, but nodded in agreement. Eir moved out from behind the counter, and guided Draco to the door.

Outside, Draco once again wished that he was of age, as he watched Eir continually fail to light his cigarette with his lighter, before moving onto a box of matches. Draco had once seen some Hufflepuffs expertly snap their fingers to light their joints behind the greenhouses. Eir had finally managed to light the end of one hand-rolled fag and took a long drag before passing the matches to Draco.

“Special baccy for the occasion.” Eir grinned.

Having never done this before, Draco feigned nonchalance as, with trembling fingers, he attempted to strike the match. Watching a few more of Draco’s attempts, Eir took the matches and lit the cigarette for him.

Draco inhaled a breath before his lungs ceased up and he coughed violently for several moments. Bemused, Eir watched him before saying; “Remember to breathe mate, you won’t get your fix if you don’t.”

To hide his embarrassment and to seem more experienced, Draco narrowed his eyes in response, “I know.” He then attempted to take a drag without spluttering. This time, he found that breathing in after quelled his instinct to cough up his lungs. He started to feel more relaxed and light-headed as the nicotine rush set in. He hated to think of the consequences if any of his friends, his family, _his father_ were to see him now but he began to see the appeal in this activity.

He’d always been taught that muggles were lesser than himself, that anyone who’s blood had been tainted by them wasn’t worth his time or respect. That being part of a family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight meant that he was leagues above his non-pure blooded peers. And having been brought up in a sheltered wizarding family, he’d never experienced anything to oppose this ideology. He’d never had the opportunity to spend time in the muggle world, never interacted with a muggle besides the one next to him. And so he’d come to think of muggles as monsters; nasty, foul creatures. But recently, he’d come to the realisation that maybe he was the monster. A dark creature unworthy of honour or praise.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Eir was always saying things Draco didn’t understand, he had no idea what a ‘penny’ was, so this was no exception. “Huh?”

“Wanna talk about what’s going on?”

For some inexplicable reason, Draco found that with Eir his usual aversion to expressing his feelings his father had instilled in him all but disappeared. Maybe it was because there was no history with him, no preconceived ideas because of his family’s reputation, and that the reality of Draco’s identity would never, and could never be revealed. He felt safe behind the lies and half-truths that kept Eir from knowing his reality.

But despite this, he just couldn’t bring himself to talk about everything that had happened, because saying it out loud made it real. “Not really.”

“Well whatever it is, it’s always better to talk about it than keep it to yourself. It’s better than getting into dodgy shit just ‘cause you can’t deal with it yourself. Trust me.”

Draco cast a sidelong glance at Eir. How could he ever talk to anyone about this? His friends at school would never accept him, he’d probably disgust them if they knew. He couldn’t talk to his parents about it; his father couldn’t even look at him anymore, and his mother was never the warm, compassionate type. Eir would never fully understand without Draco revealing the wizarding world to him. There was no one. No one at all.

“Why do you care so much?”

Eir hesitated before replying. The truth was, he saw a lot of himself in Draco. He recognised the tell-tale signs of addiction, of depression and anxiety. He wished someone had stepped in for him earlier. And now, he wanted to help Draco before he reached the end point, because he was still struggling past it. Some mornings he couldn’t get out of bed. Some days he couldn’t eat, longing for the sweet relief of the drug-induced numbness of his body and muted emotions. Even after being clean for two whole years, those desires and urges never left him. He felt trapped.

“Because I was once where you are now. I used to feel really fucking low, like, all the time. I was lonely, depressed, anxious all the time. I was doing nothing with my life, going nowhere, achieving nothing. I had no friends… I thought smack was the only way to escape it. To get out. Because when I was high, I had no cares. I felt fucking invincible… but I wasn’t. And I guess… I guess I just want to help you before you end up like me.”

Draco didn’t really know what to say, he was partly confused, but mostly felt a surge of affection for the strange muggle beside him.

By now, they’d both finished their cigarettes, and Draco felt pleasantly placated. “It’d be good to have someone to talk to, to be honest.” Draco mumbled. Eir nodded his head towards the door, and they headed back inside.

“Did we ever get round to listening to Abbey Road?”

“Is that The Beatles?”

Eir chuckled, “I take it we haven’t then.”

The record started spinning, and a hypnotic bassline sounded. By now, Draco recognised Lennon’s voice as he started singing.

" _… Here come old flat-top, he come groovin' up slowly_

_He got ju-ju eyeball, he one holy roller_

_He got hair down to his knee_

_Got to be a joker, he just do what he please ..._ "

“What does that even _mean_?”

“Absolutely no idea mate. It’s just gibberish. Sounds good though, hey?”

Draco nodded enthusiastically. It sounded fucking brilliant.

“I can’t believe I never knew who these mu- guys were.”

“Me neither. It’s fucking crazy. Did your parents never play music in the car, or listen to the radio?”

Draco bit back the urge to laugh. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever _driving a car_ or _listening to the radio_. They’d sooner have dinner with the _Weasleys_ than ever spend their time doing the same things as muggles. Instead, he said; “No, they’re kind of traditional.”

“Yeah no shit. Sounds like it.”

-

The whole day was spent managing the shop and listening to the greatest tunes from the last three or so decades. Eir usually blared out his music as a sort of advertising strategy for any passersby, but today there was intent and purpose. He was educating his padawan.

Lunch was some rolled ham and mayo sandwiches from the new bakery ‘Routledges’, which Eir adorned with salt and vinegar crisps. Draco was apprehensive about the mixing of flavours and textures but once he tried it, he found the northern delicacy delightful.

When it was time to close up shop, Eir presented him with a homemade mix-tape. He explained that it was some homework for Draco to study, which he felt honoured to do.

“How do you want your wages then?”

“My what?”

“Well I have got to pay you if you’re going to work here.”

“Oh really? Thank you.”

“Well who else is going to? Do you want the wonga at the end of the week, month?”

“Wonga?"

“Your money lad. Weekly then?”

“Yeah that sounds great. Thanks Eir.”

Eir smiled at the lad and sat him down with a more serious look on his face.

“Right, I have some conditions and rules for you working here.”

Draco nodded and reflected Eir’s attitude. He didn’t want to mess this up.

“Number one: The Beatles and Jimi are kings, no debate.”

“Of course.”

“Number two: you need to come into work sober. No smack or alcohol on the job or the night before. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Number three: don’t call me sir. I may look it but I am not a knight.”

“Okay… Eir.”

“That’s better.”

The two felt like they had come to an agreement. Draco looked at the clock and realised he needed to go, if he were to meet Polky on time. Eir sent him on his way with a reminder to come in tomorrow.


	4. Kozmic Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco suffers from nightmares, and finds solace within his new muggle friends.

_~_

_Time keeps moving on_

_Friends they turn away_

_I keep moving' on_

_But I never found out why_

_I keep pushing so hard the dream_

_I keep trying' to make it right_

_Through another lonely day_

_~_

_Draco was being brought to the main hall at home by his mother, who said that they had some very important guests. He wasn’t particularly pleased with being dragged out of bed and forced into some pristine, pressed black robes. No one, in his mind, was worth rousing the entire house for a three am gathering. Narcissa was in an unusual hurry, which was all that kept his mouth shut, and he wondered who had gotten his parents so excited._

_Narcissa slowed her punishing pace as they neared the gargantuan double doors to the hall. Draco slowed down with her, and felt her hand squeeze his shoulder before nudging him forward to the door. He looked at her and felt a distinct change in atmosphere. A ball of lead grew in his stomach._

_He pushed the door open slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the great, flickering fire that burned into his retina. Narcissa glided in after him, shutting the doors with a thump. The silhouette of his father was slung on the floor by the blaze, and three more elongated figures surrounded it. Usually glassy and golden, the hall was hung in shadow and cardinal flashes. Draco had opened Pandora’s box._

_Emotions had been running high since Harry Potter exposed the Dark Lord. Lucius’ failure to stop it was punctuated by rows and whispers and slammed doors. Draco knew his father is a Deatheater, it made him proud to know that his family was highly valued by you-know-who. However, he was hugely embarrassed to find out that his father had been thwarted by none other than his classmate, stinking Potter. If Lucius’ had just let him in on the mission, he was sure he could’ve helped. Draco was ready to serve the Dark Lord. It would be an honour._

_The roar of the bonfire didn’t mute the hiss that Draco heard behind him, or the silky slither that accompanied it. A cold bead of sweat formed at the nape of his neck and ran behind his collar._

_“Ah Draco, my boy. Come. Come and join us.”_

_Each vowel winded around the next and sank into the snaking sibilance that formed the infamous timbre of the Dark Lord._

_As he came closer, the gaunt face of his father watched him, daring him to runaway from this unearthly meeting. Two other men fenced in his father, both tall and muscular, coarse and putrid. Draco was entranced however, by the fluid, slick movements of his master. The Dark Lord kept him overwhelmed with dancing fingers and hypnotic rasping. Magnetic._

_“Do you want to serve me Draco?”_

_“It is all I desire.”_

_It was the only time he understood so fundamentally his Aunty Bella, her manic servitude and longing for her master. The Dark Lord was potently dynamic, self-righteous and chilling. One could only feel inferior and invigorated by his presence, Draco thought, an impressive feat._

_“Such willingness Lucius. Such compliance. Draco would never fail me Lucius, unlike you.”_

_Acid rose in Draco throat at the stress on ‘you’. The furnace in front of him abruptly became hotter and the cool scales against his ankles felt like shackles. Petrified he gazed at the Dark Lord and then at his father, whose thin lips all but disappeared. Draco tasted iron and vomit filling his mouth._

_“Draco, my loyal servant. Would you fail me?”_

_“N n n - no m m - my lord.”_

_Snarls and howls sounded as Draco stumbled through his reply. The ball in his stomach dropped as the doors burst open and smacked into the walls either side. He whipped around and watched as the house elves dragged in a furious werewolf wrapped in steaming silver chains that clanked and screeched along the floor._

_“Alohomora”_

_The Dark Lord’s cackle wormed its way into his ear and shook his spine as the padlock feebly holding the chains together, fell apart. The werewolf leapt forward._

Draco woke himself up by his screaming. Sweating and shaking and spluttering, he frantically turned on his bedside lamp and watched the shadows leave the room.

The terror dissipated from his tense shoulders and frustration set in. The bed sheets were damp and strewn around, letting the draft brush his moist skin, cooling him down from his feverish nightmare. Draco rabidly pummeled his pillow and cried his sorrow and anger into the mattress.

“I _HATE_ YOU! YOU FUCKING SHIT HEAD!”

He panted and rubbed his face, pulling his eyelids and lips all directions. Unbeknownst to Draco, Narcissa’s hand was resting on his door, her feet silent without her heels. She knew he couldn’t cast a silencing spell and had been listening to his ordeal through the door. Lifting her hand from the door to her lips, she left to go to bed again. Draco sniffled and remade his cocoon in his bed, leaving the lamp on.

\- -

The door of the Glass Onion swung open and sent the wind chimes into song as Draco shuffled into the shop. Over the last few weeks he had learnt how to use the till, muggle money and the record player as well as what a junkie was and how very similar it was to his furry little problem.

Draco had tried a number of times to explain to Eir that he in fact did not choose to be in his situation, and that it was his father’s failings that was the cause of it all. But Eir never accepted his ‘excuses’ and told him that he had to learn to take responsibility for his mistakes. Sound advice if he was actually a junkie. But besides his growing dependence on cigarettes - entirely due to Eir’s own bad habit - he wasn’t even close.

The Glass Onion had become a sort of safe haven for Draco. It was where he had first been introduced to The Beatles, Nas, Fleetwood Mac, T. Rex and Queen. It was where he’d gotten his first job, and his first real friend. The till still scared him every time it pinged open, but now he only flinched. He spent his wages on band t-shirts, cassettes, jeans and recently, his very own Walkman.

Eir was sorting through some new arrivals when Draco walked in, “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Well, the new Nas record came today, so fucking brilliant mate.”

“No shit! Put it on now!”

After spending pretty much everyday with Eir, Draco had learnt that, despite his love for the rock and punk classics, Eir had a deep appreciation for Nas. Eir had once confided in Draco that Illmatic had helped him through recovering from his relapse two years prior.

Eir set the needle down, and string instruments sounded. Draco started cheesing as the opening beats played.

Draco still had no clue what Nas was rapping about half the time. The American muggle slang and culture was completely lost on him but he liked the way the beats and hooks sounded, often finding himself lost in the hypnotic flows. And the lyrics he did understand, he felt strangely connected to.

Brutality and violence reminded him of his father, Death Eaters and the war currently raging on in the world he found himself increasingly disconnected to. Oppression was something he found himself slowly coming to terms with. Being a werewolf in the wizarding world would mean that finding any kind of decent job or partner or friends in the future would be infinitely more difficult. Draco had always been secure in his privilege and superiority over his peers, but now he was lower than anyone he knew.

“Eir, why do you like music so much? I mean, you said that it helped a lot when you were recovering. But why not drawing, boxing, or writing?”

Eir pulled out his match box of papers and dried out tobacco, and placed a filter in his ear. Draco was aware that Eir was unsure about how to answer, as he waited about two fags before he finally did.

“We all communicate in different ways. You can differentiate between Paul and John, André 3000 and Big Boi or George Micheal and Andrew Ridgeley. And it's like everyone has their own language that speaks from their heart to yours.” Eir touched Draco’s sternum with his forefinger.

“Curating and sharing music is like sharing a little bit of myself. Music just speaks to me, I feel like I'm understood. I enjoy art and knocking stuff about, but listening - truly listening - to meaningful music is a high like none other.”

Crackling filled the space between them as the needle reached the centre of the record and side A of ‘It Was Written’ stopped turning. Eir got up, flipped the record and repositioned the needle. The intro to ‘Black Girl Lost’ started playing.

“The soul needs feeding. If you don’t do that, the mind and body decay.”

Draco thought about the Dark Lord and his followers. Besides their fear and hysteria, their eyes seemed soulless. He was always told that half bloods, dark creatures and muggles had no souls, but he knew he had one. And his was hurting, in need of nourishment.

“Music is my greatest pleasure. Drugs pale in comparison to the bass guitar on ‘Another One Bites The Dust’. I don’t need faith, a woman or smack when I have music.”

Soon ‘It Was Written’ came to an end and Draco dressed it in it’s sleeve before putting on a mixtape he made. He hoped Eir liked it - he was still struggling with the technology.

\- -

In Shoulder of Mutton, Eir, Draco and a few others crowded around the far end of the pub's dingy bar. It was a Friday night, so everyone from the town and surrounding farmsteads had come in for a couple pints. It was a crowd that Draco loved, the novelty of being just one of the lads never wore off. But unlike them, the swoopy rush of alcohol quickly vanished due his new werewolf metabolism, earning him a reputation.

However, he always felt slightly uncomfortable around some of the locals, as his accent spoke of years of private education and his aristocratic background. He'd been called a fairy too many times now, so he tried to keep a low profile. Eir would always laugh when it happened, whispering to him that they all idolised Freddie Mercury and Boy George without a clue. It didn’t help Draco with the awkwardness, but internally the tightness in his chest loosened.

The topic of homosexuality and the AIDS epidemic had been of great interest to Draco, and Eir was more than willing to discuss it. The intersection of music, drugs and sexuality was a convenient crossroad that they would often find themselves at. Eir had plenty of stories about his time hopping from couch to couch, in multiple rehab centres and A and E, a number of them about AIDS sufferers and their life advice. Eir told him that people become very wise when they know they’re going to die, a beautiful side effect he thought. Draco asked about a cure and Eir laughed and said there wasn’t, and that recently a pill came out that was being used to increase the life expectancy, but it had terrible effects. In the wizarding world, muggle afflictions weren’t an issue, a spell or potion had you sorted, no side effects, no epidemics.

Draco was also surprised to hear about the common violent actions against lesbians and gays in the muggle world. Granted, it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows in his world, but there was legislation to prevent things getting out of hand and most people were open. Though unfortunately, thanks to the Death Eaters there were rising accounts of targeted attacks.

It stung Draco to hear the slurs and hateful verses in the music he enjoyed, as they frequently used queerness as the punchline. He’d never really thought about his sexuality, over the years he’d learned to suppress his wandering emotions, and before meeting Eir, the shame of his lycanthropy had pushed those conflicting feelings to the back of his mind.

But now that he was living and thriving in the muggle world, he found he had more time to consider how he may feel. Draco had never actually been with anyone, and he now wondered if he ever would. Because, he thought bitterly, who would ever want to be with a werewolf?

“... I mean, even Draco said so.”

“Sorry, what? I said what?”

“That _Blade Runner_ is a bad movie.”

“Mer- God it is. It’s awful. The characters are so flat and have zero development. Also I didn’t understand what any of the characters were supposed to be doing at any moment in the film. Seriously, never.”

Eir looked at him incredulously. “How can you say that? It’s a fucking classic! It questions the whole idea of existence, the ethics of extreme class divide, our consumerist culture and its effects on the environment, artificial intelligence, cloning ... need I go on?! There’s more, trust me.” The alcohol was causing Eir’s words to slur together slightly, as he waggled a pointed finger in Draco’s direction.

Niamh shook her head, her arms making wide, sweeping gestures as she argued. Though she be but little she is fierce, Eir had said to him, and he agreed.

Draco felt his heart squeeze in affection for Niamh as she bickered with Eir - they’d become quite close over the past weeks. Just a few days prior, she’d seen some of Draco’s scars on his arms, and showed him her own. In a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, Draco spent the rest of the afternoon talking with Niamh about their families. Draco had found it strange, that he felt comfortable talking about his parents and the cold, oppressiveness of his upbringing with Niamh.

His father had become more and more paranoid, short-tempered, manic; the betrayal and hatred burned in Draco’s chest, hot like acid.

Niamh understood how he felt, even if he couldn’t tell her the whole truth. She’d had a scarring childhood, and also felt abandoned by her family. It comforted him to have someone who listened to and shared his struggles.

Niamh had taken to self-harm to deal with the pain she felt, but had stopped some years ago. She had subsequently covered her scars with beautiful, intricate tattoos. She wasn’t ashamed of them, she said, but rather liked the idea of taking something symbolic of her struggle and making it beautiful. She said she’d do the same for Draco if he wanted - he felt touched and excited by the idea of it. He just didn’t know what to get yet.

Now, in the pub, Niamh was still arguing the fact that _Blade Runner_ was not an enjoyable film, due to its completely lacklustre characters and slow-moving plot, whilst Eir was trying to counter with the philosophical points raised throughout the film. Draco watched their faces and gestures placate as Niamh and Eir realised that their pints were finished and the discussion was going nowhere.

“Well alright then, I’ll get the next round.” Niamh shrugged and walked over to the opposite end of the bar, a few of the farm hands leering at her as she went.

Eir leaned in closer to Draco. “Hey, what’s up with you? You’ve been really out of it this evening.”

“Nothing, just feeling a bit on edge.”

“Having any trouble again?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I suppose.”

“You _suppose_. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Not what you’re thinking. Just having a stressful time at home, is all.”

Eir shot him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shoulder. Draco hadn’t told Eir nearly as much as he had Niamh, but he knew enough to understand what he meant.

Draco felt bad, using his shitty situation at home and fake addiction as cover for his lycanthropy. But, he supposed, if it wasn’t for his messed up home life, he wouldn’t have to deal with being a Dark Creature.

The next full moon was coming up soon, and Draco was becoming more snappy and irritable as his next Change drew closer. He was having trouble sleeping, haunted by the memories of the night he was Turned. His skin felt prickly all over, like a fever, his senses sharpened to an inhuman degree. It scared him, really, that he had so little control over himself.

Draco shook himself, forcing a smile. “It’s fine, I’ll get over it.” He knew it was a lie, and sensed that Eir knew too.

Niamh slammed three pint glasses down on the bar, “Right, here you go, I’ve just spent the last of my pay on drinks for you ungrateful twats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to upload! We've been really busy recently.
> 
> To let you know, 'Niamh' is a Scottish name, and is pronounced 'Neeve'.
> 
> Song: Kozmic Blues by Janis Joplin


	5. I Gave You Power

~

_Damn_

_Look how muh-fuckers use a n***_

_Just use me for whatever the fuck they want_

_I don't get to say shit_

_Just grab me, just do what the fuck they want_

_Sell me, throw me away_

_N****s just don't give a fuck about a n**** like me, right_

_Like I'm a f-, I'm a gun, shit_

_It's like I'm a motherfucking gun_

_I can't believe this shit_

_Word up, word up_

_I seen some cold nights and bloody days_

_They grab me and bullets spray_

_They use me wrong so I sing this song 'til this day_

_My body is cold steel for real_

_I was made to kill, that's why they keep me concealed_

~

It was the morning before Draco’s second transformation, and the werewolf lay atop his bedsheets, the cool, damp air in the room chilling his sweat-slick skin. Draco felt as though his whole body was on fire, his skull being ripped in two. The goosebumps and prickles on his skin made him shiver. His dry tongue sat heavy within his aching jaw.

Draco had thought that this time might have been easier; seen as he had survived the first. But this was worse, much worse. He felt immobilised by the fever-like feeling, he was restless, ravenous.

With immense effort, Draco heaved his aching body upright. He swayed slightly as blood rushed to his head, momentarily blurring his vision. In the bath, Draco breathed in the calming scent of lavender, revelling in the way the bath oils softened and soothed his skin. He waited until the water turned cold, and his fingers turned to prunes before getting out.

Since getting a job, Draco had spent a lot of his time curating a collection of muggle clothes that he was really very proud of. In particular, a beat up pair of Docs and skinny, black Levis that he bought at a thrift stall in the fortnightly farmers’ market. Eir and Niamh had donated some of their band t shirts to him, along with an assortment of fleeces and sweaters that had spent too much time at the bottom of cupboards. For once in his life, Draco’s ‘main’ wardrobe wasn’t new and tailored, although still mainly black. His clothes were soft and worn, frayed and baggy, and he loved them all. All the pouches of ‘baccy he was collecting for school were carefully wrapped in handkerchiefs and slid between neatly folded tees and jeans. A new scent of lavender, tobacco and old clung to his skin and clothes, complimenting his new found hobbies.

Today however, an old fleece and worn combat pants would have to do. Draco’s headache had subsided but his skin felt like fire ants were exploring underneath.

Loose and soft. Loose and soft.

He ratched through his drawers, pulling a cig out from a matchbox and sticking it between his teeth and another behind his ear.

He didn’t really like the fact that he’d become so dependent on the cigs; he didn’t like having no control over his impulses. Especially when he was feeling so awful. But he found that he relished the much needed relief they offered.

Sitting on the window sill, Draco looked out into the murky depths of Kielder Water. When he was little, he loved coming to the manor in the summers. Draco had always marveled at the gatehouse and slate steps and magic of the ancient home. He’d spent hours sitting by the window, trying to spot fish or merfolk. The long corridors and vast, empty rooms provided infinite hiding places in which he’d read until dinner.

Now, the house closed in around him with it’s pervasive, clammy claws. He was lucky to have Niamh and Eir. Draco pressed himself up against the cold glass, eyes trained on the illuminated garden of kelp below him.

Eventually, hunger and the end of the cigarette put an end to his wallowing.

Breakfast was six eggy crumpets drenched in golden syrup, alongside a large mug of rooibos tea and sliced peaches. Draco smiled appreciatively - the house elves seemed to know that he needed comfort food. He crawled into bed after another fag, and fell asleep.

-

Draco was sitting on a damp and mossy log by the side of the reservoir by the time the sun began to sink below the crest of the horizon. His mother had left him some time ago with a flick of her wrist and a muttered _appare vestigium_ , her head bent down as she turned away from him.

Draco could feel the moon's pull in his muscles and bones, legs heavy with anxious anticipation. He wondered what he looked like once transformed. Was he a full-blown wolf, or some kind of hybrid? What was the colour of his fur, the same as his human hair? What about his eyes? He wished he had someone to talk to about all this. He'd started reading up on the subject as soon as he could, but a lot of the books were outdated and inaccurate - more fiction than fact.

Draco cast his mind back to third year, with Lupin as their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He remembered, with a stab of shame, sniggering with the rest of the Slytherins about the scars on Lupin's face and his shabby robes. He'd looked down on him, never stopping to consider the torment and bravery of his former professor. Draco wondered if he'd meet that same fate. Would he have to spend the rest of his life struggling to find work, living in the shadow of his past?

It suddenly occurred to Draco that he'd never even considered what line of work he'd want to go into. The wealth of the Malfoy family would be enough to support him, he supposed, but he didn’t like the idea of having no purpose, and the thought of living off his father's money left a bad taste in his mouth.

Draco watched the lazy ascent of the moon in the darkening sky with sickening dread, and longed for the past in which he'd witnessed this exact scene with amazement.

The moon reached its peak, and Draco fell forward with a gasp of pain as white hot agony blurred his vision. His limbs began to dislocate themselves to then be relocated in a new, unfamiliar formation. Draco squirmed on the ground, his nails scraped against the muddy ground as his mind was turned inside out from the searing pain. The burning sensation of his skin became almost unbearable as his fur broke free until, quite suddenly, he was overcome with relief.

-

_The Wolf howled in euphoria as it turned to bound through the shadows of the seemingly endless woodland. The trees soon started to densen, the milky glow of the full moon splintered by the green needles of softwood trees, as the Wolf made its way further into the forest._

_Moonlight illuminated the ferns and thistles in the clearing ahead, and the Wolf charged through the bracken and collected dew on his coat. It was a particularly cold night, and after such a stiflingly humid day, a thin layer of low lying mist hid the ground from view. The bright light cast an elongated moonshadow of the Wolf onto the shifting cloud beneath him._

_A rustle came from right of the clearing - a hare with a coat of brown fur. The Wolf grunted in excitement, and started to stalk it before breaking out into a full sprint as the small animal tried to get away. Minutes later, and the chase had come to an end. Satisfaction sat warm and comforting in the Wolf’s stomach, its jaw stained red._

_The moon carried with it liberation, as it made its slow journey across the twinkling sky. The Wolf longed for a pack to hunt with, as it spent its remaining hours of freedom racing through the trees after its various victims. Loneliness was something he shared with his human counterpart, and every victorious catch was tainted with disappointment as the Wolf gobbled up every last morsel by himself._

_As the moon began its descent towards the offending horizon, the Wolf picked himself morosely through the trees and lavender towards the reservoir. The sound of the water lapping at the shore made the Wolf itch in discontent, huffing in frustration as his muscles began to pull and ache. He laid down by the shore just as the sun began to rise, and the pain set in._

-

Draco awoke in the comfort of his mahogany bed at Yarrow Manor. He couldn’t remember the previous night, it was like he had a mild case of amnesia. It’d been like this the last time too. He could just about summon fragments of memories, remember only the scents of the forest and the coppery taste of warm blood.

Draco found he was still on high alert from the night before, his senses sharp and clear. The faint, lingering smell of his mother’s perfume told him that she had only just recently left him. The sheets beside him felt warm from someone else’s body heat - she had been watching him.

Rolling over to his left side, Draco discovered the various healing potions and ointments littered across the surface of his bedside table. His heart squeezed, tight and uncomfortable in his chest.

Before he was Turned, he had always felt close to his mother. And although Draco’s mother had never been particularly warm or compassionate, the Molly Weasley type, he had always been certain in her love for him. Now, it was like she tried to avoid him as much as possible. He knew that she still cared for him, but nowadays her gaze never quite reached him, her hands never reached out to him.

Draco curled up in a foetal position, his arms hugging his folded legs, knees knocking his wobbling chin. His red eyes welling up, but the tears wouldn’t come. He stared vacantly at his dark room. The house was only illuminated by fat, beeswax candles that dripped onto their brass holders.

Draco would never be who he was before, and no one - not even, if not especially, his family - would accept him anymore.

It would be bliss to just disappear into the world of Muggles and leave all of this behind.

-

A couple of days after his transformation, Draco felt infinitely better. Polky had agreed to apparate him to the Glass Onion, and he now stood just off the main road, trying to build up the courage to cross over to the music shop. It had been almost a week since he last saw Eir, and Draco was sure that Eir would think that he’d ‘gone off the rails’ again.

Eir was right in a way, he supposed.

The door jingled as Draco stepped into the shop. By now, it felt more like a home than the ancient walls of his family’s estates. But the familiar scent of hash and damp permeating from the upstairs apartment never failed to make Draco’s nose crease in faint disgust before he acclimatised.

Draco heard Niamh before he saw her. “Where the fuck have you been?!”

Draco flinched. He still felt sensitive to any and all attacks on his senses, and Niamh’s boom of a shout resembled a dragon’s cry.

Draco turned around slowly, like approaching a wild animal. “I’ve been about.”

_“You’ve been about.”_

She made a fierce character, with her hair a mass of dark curls sitting atop her angular face and grey eyes. Tattoos decorated her arms, piercings ran up her ears, chunky rings on each of her fingers. She was short and slight in build, often wearing platformed boots to make herself seem taller. She frequently made jabs at Draco and Eir for being ‘giants’. Draco had to chuckle each time she did - if only she knew about real giants. But now her anger made her tower over him, his pep slowly decreasing until he felt like a wet lettuce.

Niamh made a move to grab his arm, to check for needle marks he supposed, but Draco flinched back anyways. All she would find was more gashes and a weird rash from a nettle patch he fell in. Alas, the pain and shame was the same, and the guarded look he gave her silenced any further chastising.

Eir came out of the stock room and looked between the two of them. He quickly came over and gave Draco a hug. Draco finally felt those hot tears breach the dam and he softly sniffled in to his friend’s shoulder. After a while, they relaxed and stepped away from each other.

“Want a cuppa then? We’ll talk about it.”

-

The day passed by with very few customers and many pots of tea, the lack of tourists indicating the end of summer. The door was open as it was still warm outside, a constant chorus of crickets matched the gentle jazz being played on the hifi set.

Niamh had been showing Draco a new piercing she had gotten, and he enquired about the process of getting one. Piercings weren’t popular in the Wizarding world, people favoring long pendants and hats as accessories. However, Muggle fashion was interesting and diverse, Punks and American Emo youth were particularly interesting. They inspired a sense of civil disobedience that Draco loved and hadn’t been properly exposed to as a cultural phenomenon.

“Could you give me one? A piercing?”

“Yeah sure! Eir do you have a needle I could borrow? And some ice? Actually, let’s go to mine, I can borrow some proper stuff from Pete.”

They made their way out of the shop and down the street to Niamh's parlour. Eir asking Draco every couple of metres if he was sure that he wanted to go ahead with it. Draco was certain though, he wanted to go back to Hogwarts with a piece of the summer with him. A pile of muggle clothes wouldn’t go down well.

Niamh took them all inside and showed them her drawings and equipment. Draco was fascinated to see the instruments, neon lights and crude remarks etched into the walls, but simultaneously beautiful art and complete free expression.

Draco started to feel anxious when they reached the piercing room. Glass cabinets lined the walls, filled with jewelled earrings and dull titanium studs. Draco turned to Niamh, who had just finished taking out and sterilising the piercing needles.

“So, where’re you wanting it?”

Draco liked Niamh’s various silver rings that lined the tips of her ears, so he asked for one of those. When Niamh asked which earring he wanted, Draco pointed to a simple, small gold hoop at the back of a cabinet. Niamh reached inside for the earring, and then cleaned his ears with an antiseptic wipe. Draco prepared for the pain ahead.

As Niamh pierced the needle through his cartilage, Draco found it wasn’t all bad. In comparison to the recent transformation he’d experienced, it really was nothing to fuss over, Draco reasoned.

“All done. Looks pretty fuckin sick if you ask me.”

Niamh passed Draco a small mirror so he could have a look at her work. “It’s perfect.” He whispered, a grin finding its way onto his face. Eir nodded in approval.

With his left ear throbbing and glinting in the sunset, Draco was overcome with a sense of sated happiness as they walked away from the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: I Gave You Power by Nas
> 
> We apologise that this has taken so long to upload! We've been really busy with school/work.  
> But we have a playlist that you can listen to! Its called 'i never sleep cos sleep is the cousin to death' (original, we know), use the url below!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1qqia456w776txH3tXRnjs?si=n3k7107BRD6DQPAPWkq4Ew
> 
> also, for anyone who isn't sure what 'appear vestigum' is, it's a tracking spell :)


	6. C.R.E.A.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer has come to an end, and as Draco prepares for his return to Hogwarts, he's faces a grave new reality. 
> 
> *stand by for some family drama*

_~_

_I guess that’s the time when I’m not depressed_

_But I’m still depressed, and I ask: what’s it worth?_

_Ready to give up so I seek the old Earth_

_Who explained workin’ hard may help you maintain_

_To learn to overcome the heartaches and pain_

_~_

Draco felt uneasy stepping into Yarrow Manor that evening. The fresh piercing was now a dull ache at the side of his head and he was contemplating getting a tattoo next week. After they had left the parlour that evening, Niamh, Eir and Draco had then spent too much time and money in the pub. Draco’s head had been pleasantly swimming.

The lazy smile that had made its way onto his flushed face at some point in the evening was now gone. There was an odd sort of static energy in the air, an erroneous stillness, and Draco quickly started to sober up with a growing sense of dread.

The usual hustle and bustle of the house elves had ceased, and the portraits lining the dim corridor wore smug expressions. As Draco made his way down the hallway, his ears pricked at the hissing of a hushed and heated conversation. A strip of yellow light escaped from the ajar library door.

The voices became clearer, as Draco slowly approached the door. But even with his superior hearing, Draco could only catch fragments. “The Dark Lord… complete trust in him… a mission… been chosen… forgiveness...”

It was his father’s voice. Draco’s mind was running a mile a minute; when did he get back? _Why_ was he back?

His mother sounded distressed. “You can’t do this, Lucius… we’ve been punished enough… no redemption…”

Draco took a step back from the door as his parents continued arguing in desperate tones. Just as he began to turn away, trying to make as little noise as possible, Narcissa burst out of the room, knocking Draco to the side before stopping in her tracks.

Draco’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. He didn’t want to face his father, didn’t want to learn what his parents had been bickering about. Narcissa looked stunned by her son’s presence, and Draco was sure he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Lucius’ voice cut through the tense silence; “Narcissa, what’s happened?”

Draco willed himself to move, to hide, to run; but his feet remained firmly in their place, rooted to the ground by some instinctual, paralysing fear. Narcissa’s eyes widened in panic as she took in Draco’s attire, and the ominous shuffle-clunk of Lucius’ booted feet and cane came closer to them.

Time seemed to stop for a moment as Lucius reached the doorframe to see his son dressed entirely in muggle fashion. Draco felt asphyxiated as his father looked him up and down. Lucius’ left eye twitched, his lip curling up in a show of disgust.

“Draco, what in Salazar’s name are you wearing?”

“I like these clothes.” Draco regretted saying anything as soon as the words left his mouth.

Lucius’ gaze was cold and calm, Draco swallowed reflexively and his hands were fidgeting with the frayed hem of his Fugees t-shirt.

“Family Draco, is everything we are. We are pureblood. We are _Malfoys_. We are _Blacks_. You are a _disgrace_. You make our _family_ a disgrace.”

Draco shrunk as his father’s cane smacked the door frame.

“You are a Dark Creature with the Dark Lord’s blessing and curse. The Dark Lord has his reasons for what he did to us, but this is unjustifiable. Go and get changed into something more suitable.”

Lucius flicked his hair and adjusted his robe before turning away from his son, signalling the end of the conversation. Draco suddenly felt cold, and his chest tightened.

“No, I won’t. I don’t want to change, Father.”

“Draco, think very carefully about what you are saying here.”

“I know what I am saying Father. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Change.”

Lucius spun on his heel, his robes swirling around him. He resembled a merman for a split second, slick hair bursting forth from a black sea.

“Have you been hexed, Draco? Merlin, are you out of your mind?”

Draco shook his head. “No, I’m quite alright.”

Something dangerous flashed in Lucius’ eyes, and Draco suddenly felt very small. It would be the only time since becoming a werewolf that he felt innocent in the face of Darkness.

“Do you know why I came back, Draco?”

Draco was mute, and shook his head. He’d already said too much. Lucius began to pace in circles, drawing them further into the library. In the light of the room, Draco was able to take in more of his father’s appearance. Draco could see that his father’s hair was slick due to a lack of care, as it hung lank and flat around his sunken face. Lucius’ eyes were dull and his cheeks had hollowed out slightly, giving him a sickly appearance.

Despite everything, Draco couldn’t help but worry for his father. “The Dark Lord has given us a shot at full redemption, Draco. He’s given me a task that will finally bring us back into his good graces.”

Draco jumped as Narcissa placed a hand on his shoulder. “Lucius, you can’t do this. We will _never_ come back from this. The _entire_ Wizarding World would know.”

Lucius shook his head and hands erratically. “No, no. Don’t you see, ‘Cissa, if _he_ does it then imagine how much _respect_ we will gain. The Dark Lord will favortise _us_. _His_ a-a-affliction will be forgotten.”

Narcissa drew Draco slowly behind her as Lucius stopped his pacing and turned to stare into the ashes of the cold hearth. Draco reached down to squeeze his mother’s hand, and he suddenly felt like he was a small child again.

“What is it that he has asked you to do?”

Lucius laughed like that villian muggles watch. Draco felt like Bruce in front of a desperately wild man.

“What is it that he has asked _me_ to do? No no no Draco, what is it that he has asked _you_ to do.”

“Lucius don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t have asked Draco to do it. What kind of a man are you? To put our son, our _only_ son in such danger? His problem is not going to be solved by making him do this. _Think_ Lucius!”

“Narcissa, Draco _will_ do this! I - I don’t know how much longer our f-family will be able to survive otherwise.”

“It’s _murder_!”

Draco felt as if he was drowning outside in Kielder Water when his mother hissed that word. Murder. In a way he wasn’t surprised. He was sure his father had killed someone before and he knew his parents has used the _cruciatus_ curse on multiple people over the last year. But the way his mother stressed ‘murder’, he knew this wasn’t just some alley cat witch.

“Who is it?”

Lucius stared at him and asked who he thought it was. And the only person other than Harry that entered Draco’s mind, was Dumbledore. But surely not. How could his father kill him? Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard alive - other than the Dark Lord of course. Besides, his father would never be able to get in to Hogwarts.

Then it struck him. This is why his father wanted him to commit the crime. _Lucius_ couldn’t. _He_ could. _He_ will have unlimited access to Dumbledore starting in September.

“You see now Draco,” Lucius grabbed his shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, “You are uniquely able to m-murder him. You can restore the Dark Lord’s faith in us.”

They were breathing heavily. Sweat dripped down his father’s face and Draco grew more and more clammy as his body flushed hot and cold. Lucius’ nails dug into his skin, and his own broke crescents into his palms.

“No.”

_SMACK_

Draco’s neck cracked as his whipped to the side, and his cheek flared up a nasty red. Lucius pointed his wand at his son’s face and stood very still.

“If you don’t, your muggle friends won’t see the light of day.”

“What muggle friends? I wouldn’t engage with such _filth_.”

“Don’t lie to me boy! You’re lucky I haven’t killed them already. _Crucio_!”

Draco’s entire body seized up and he crashed to the floor screaming. He had never felt such pain before. His transformation, in comparison, was like a pin prick. Narcissa was yelling at his father but he couldn’t hear. It could have been seconds or hours until the pain stopped. His body shook like a leaf.

“You will do it my son. You will.”

-

That night Draco had night terrors. He hadn’t had them since meeting Eir and Niamh, but the _cruciatus_ curse had unlocked that wretched part of his mind, and the flood gates opened. He woke up with a pounding heart and murder on his mind.

The muggle clothes he had collected over the summer had been rescued by Polky and stored in the elves' kitchen yesterday. So he lay in bed glassy eyed, dressed in a robe. It itched.

His mother had put him to bed last night, and he felt pathetic. Draco’s head felt hollow, thoughts forming and unravelling at the same time. It was a strain to focus on anything. There was a weight on his chest that made it difficult to breathe. Draco was fever-hot and goosebumps ran up his arms.

Draco wondered if he was losing his mind, he knew that could happen to victims of the curse. He vaguely recalled that it had happened to a classmate’s parents, but he couldn’t place whose.

Silent sobs racked through Draco’s body as he hugged his legs to his chest. It felt as though someone had ripped his heart right out, and wiped his mind blank. Flashes of his father’s twisted sneer plagued him.

Draco wasn’t a killer, he couldn’t do what his father needed. At school he was known for being a bit of a bully - and often hexed people for no good reason - but working for Professor Umbridge and the Dark Lord were two very frightfully different things. He was too exhausted to feel angry, but somewhere in Draco’s mind he thought his father was a coward.

Draco registered something cool and damp on his forehead, and opened his bleary eyes to see his mother standing above him. Draco wanted to thank her, to hug her, to scream at her complacency. He wasn’t sure if he ever did do those things.

Draco obliged when Narcissa lifted his sweaty neck to pour water down his parched throat, and couldn’t protest when she began to spoon porridge into his mouth. Draco hadn’t realised just how hungry he had been until then, and savored the feeling of a full stomach. He wondered what time it was - it was always dark in Yarrow Manor.

The Glass Onion was the only thing that pleasantly span round this head, despite some guilt churning in his stomach. Lucius wouldn’t kill Eir and Niamh now that he had gotten Draco to commit to the Dark Lord’s task. So the only angst he had was that he was missing shifts and worrying his friends.

A few days passed silently, and the self assurance that Draco had acquired over the summer was thoroughly destroyed. Lucius never visited him, and Narcissa had disappeared to see her sister in London. Polky had taken up the task of feeding and bathing Draco in his vegatative state with much enthusiasm. The house elf was careful to avoid loud noises and discussions of the news, and instead enchanted the radio to play soft muggle music stations. Draco wept at any mention of back to school sales.

A week after the argument with his father, Draco wrote a letter to Eir and Niamh and explained that he was having family problems and would only be able to see them once more before Christmas. It was brief but the severity of the situation was aptly conveyed, as Draco soon had long replies that Polky delivered to him. Niamh demanded details and suggested he ran away to her place, where Eir simply stated Friday would work best and that he would organise some shifts for the Christmas break if he would like to return to the shop. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind that he was coming back, he needed to.

-

On Friday Draco was escorted to the elves’ kitchen and hastily shoved into muggle clothes before being apparated into the Glass Onion. The almighty crack caused Eir and Niamh to jump before bewilderment at the sudden appearance of the slumped figure took over. Draco had lost all care for the Wizarding World over the last week and had decided to minimize his walking by apparating directly into the store. He couldn’t care less if Muggles found out about magic. Muggles had never hurt him.

Niamh swore, “Did you just-”

“Would you like a seat Draco? You look like you’re ‘bout to fall over.”

Eir grabbed Draco’s shoulders and moved him to the only proper chair in the shop. Draco curled up on it and lifted his head to give his friends a weak smile. He cringed at his feebleness.

“Thanks.” Draco whispered.

Niamh bent down so that her face was inches from Draco’s, and he could see that she had dark bags under her glistening eyes. “What’s happened, Draco? We’ve been … so worried about you.” Her voice was soft and sad - a stark contrast to the fierce woman Draco had first met.

Draco took a deep breath, and suddenly his heart was beating very fast. Honesty wasn’t something that he was taught as a child, but it was something that Muggles cherished.

_Honesty is such a lonely word…_

“My father is what happened. And- and I apparated.” Draco felt ridiculous, it was just over a week since his father had used the curse on him, and he still felt dizzy and fatigued. Plus, now Eir and Niamh were looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Do you mean you teleported here, like in _The Fly_?” Eir cocked his head to the left.

“No- I mean, yeah. I guess. It’s different though. _I_ didn’t apparate here, the house elf - Polky - brought me here.”

Niamh looked particularly confused, and a little frustrated. “Bollocks. Draco, what the _bloody hell_ are you saying?”

“That I’m a wizard, recently turned … “ Draco realised that he hadn’t ever said it out loud before; “turned - um - well, I’m a werewolf.”

There was a moment of silence before Niamh and Eir broke out into fits of laughter. Draco’s heart plummeted - they didn't believe him. But, Draco supposed, if he hadn’t grown up with magic, then maybe he’d be laughing too.

“I’m being completely serious, I am a werewolf, and I do practice magic.” Niamh and Eir seemed to sober up slightly at Draco’s grave tone.

Eir knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Draco, I think you have been on a bad bender. We can get you some help. How ‘bout that?”

“No, I am telling the truth!”

“So what does that mean, that there’s a whole other world that we know absolutely nothing about?” Eir looked incredulous.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m also saying that its kept a secret for a reason, so you can’t tell anyone about it.” Draco gave both of his friends a pointed look.

Niamh smiled at him, “Go on then, show us some magic.”

“I can’t, I’m not of age. I can only do magic at school.” Draco was aware he was losing his audience, and reached into his pocket, “But I can show you my wand.”

At this, Niamh and Eir stepped forward to inspect the hawthorn wand, and all of a sudden, Draco felt distinctly odd. Because despite carrying his wand around all summer, Draco hadn’t even felt the urge to use it.

In the past, Draco would find himself yearning for the freedom of practice that came with school, his fingers itching to reach for his wand, a spell on the tip of his tongue. But the past few weeks, he’d grabbed the wand out of habit, but with a new found hesitation. The weight of the power of magic was suddenly very real, and the implications of his honesty was starting to dawn on him.

Eir and Niamh weren’t completely convinced, Draco knew that. But perhaps Christmas break would provide another opportunity to convince them. If he wasn’t dead.

If he wasn’t dead.

This is what his world was now. Was this another Great War? The DA last year suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea.

Well done Potter, 1-0.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its taken sooooo long to upload! Life's really just got in the way, I went to India and began my last year of school (the IB is killing me) whilst my lovely co-creator was looking for a place to live in London and began her second year of uni! Plus, it turns out we both HATE writing conflict... Anyways, hope you enjoyed the angst-filled chapter that this was ;)))
> 
> Song: C.R.E.A.M. by Wu-Tang Clan
> 
> also mentioned was Honesty by Billy Joel :)


	7. Waterfalls

~

_A lonely mother gazing out of the window_

_Staring at a son that she just can't touch_

_If at any time he's in a jam, she'll be by his side_

_But he doesn't realize he hurts her so much_

_But all the praying just ain't helping at all_

_Cause he can't seem to keep his self out of trouble_

~

Narcissa knew that she should have stayed at Yarrow Manor to watch over Draco, but this was much more important. Her hands shook as she waited to apparate to the top of Spinner’s End to meet her sister. However, there was no doubt in her mind that Draco was with his Muggle friends, and that Polky was taking good care of him.

Lucius had left shortly after leaving his task to Draco, and was ambushed by Aurors on the way back to the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa hadn’t told Draco, but she would have to before Hogwarts started again. He was going to be carrying a lot on his shoulders this year; she wished he was just a normal boy again. As a wife, she was greatly shaken by Lucius’ arrest but as a mother, she felt relieved. Narcissa was, despite everything, a very good mother.

Narcissa blamed herself for all of Draco’s recent changes - he most certainly wasn’t the same boy she’d known before the summer - and she worried about his inevitable return to Hogwarts. How would he cope with the task at hand? Would the other students notice how much her son had changed?

The summer had been a truly difficult time for Narcissa. With his recent transformation, Draco had become much more distant, and seemed to retreat into himself. Narcissa’s heart hurt seeing him fall into such a deep depression, and for him to lose his sense of identity. No longer was he her proud, self-assured son - he had been permanently and fundamentally changed.

Narcissa had known, of course, everything that had been going on with Lucius, and the moving of the Dark Lord’s headquarters to the Malfoy Manor. It was with great shame that she never stepped in to stop Lucius from hurting her Draco. Sometimes, Lucius reminded Narcissa of her father.

Narcissa missed the way her son used to be, the way they used to confide in and support each other. Lucius had always given Draco trouble for being closer to her, instead of him. He believed that Draco needed to learn from his father how to be a man. It would do no good spending too much time with his mother - he’d become too soft, her husband would say.

Narcissa had always fought back when Lucius was being unreasonable. They balanced each other that way. But recently, she had somehow managed to let Lucius spiral out of control. And over the past weeks, it seemed as though there was no bargaining with him; no way to communicate anymore.

Bella was the same during their teens. The subtle changes and then all of a sudden being so distant, intense. The only thing that they could ever talk about was the war, and now they couldn’t even agree on that.

Her watch chimed, and she stepped forward. With a pop she was at the top of Spinner’s End and striding down the hill. Narcissa heard Bellatrix appear behind her when some bushes rustled on the bank.

“Wait!”

Bellatrix sent a curse into the bushes and went to check what was in it. A dead fox. Typical, thought Narcissa, and carried on down the hill. She was aware of Bella following her, and of her disapproval of this meeting, but she was desperate. Bellatrix was good muscle, and honestly, allowed Narcissa to suss out what would be accepted by the other Death Eaters.

Bella seized her arm and Narcissa was beginning to greatly regret the decision of bringing her along.

“Go back Bella!”

“You must listen to me!”

“I’ve made my decision. Leave me alone!”

Narcissa hurried along the bank side path and slipped through a rusty gate to walk between the Muggle dwellings. Bellatrix followed her while constantly protesting about the task at hand: Narcissa ignored her. Their cloaks whipped around them as a gust of wind tunnelled down the alley way. The sisters darted between orange patches of light and deep shadows. Bellatrix finally caught up and implored that he was not trustworthy. Narcissa turned around spat:

“The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn’t he?”

Narcissa learnt quickly when she was a teen that any contradiction to the Dark Lord’s beliefs quickly shut up Bellatrix. Now she was a gaping fish trying to get words out. It was an improvement. She tried to carry on walking, it was nearing the time of the meeting, but Bella’s hold on her arm was vice like.

“Let go, Bella!” snarled Narcissa. But Bellatrix wasn’t going to let go anytime soon, and so Narcissa raised her wand.

“Cissy, your own sister? You wouldn’t -”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do any more!”

And she meant it. Narcissa vowed then to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep her son safe. It was apparent that no one else was concerned for him. Not even his father.

With a childish hex, Narcissa wretched her arm free and stormed ahead. Her arms hugged her body and she let out a silent sob. Quickly, she wiped her tears away and turned onto a cobbled street.

Soon they were at the house, she knocked on the door as Bellatrix caught up. For a moment, the smell of the polluted river was all she thought about, but then the faint sounds of movement behind the door caught her attention. It opened a crack and some beady eyes examined her. Narcissa threw back her hood and her long, white blonde hair spoke for her.

Narcissa and Bellatrix entered.

The room wasn’t lit any better than the street, but it had a surprising amount of character. Books lined the walls and an abused lounge set was highlighted by the precariously hung candelabra. Severus gestured towards the sofa and Narcissa removed her cloak before she perched on the lumpy settee. Bellatrix stonily moved to stand behind her, without taking off her cloak.

“So, what can I do for you?”

Severus smoothly sat down in the armchair opposite them and crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knees.

Narcissa was struck by Severus’ appearance, as he was wearing a black silk robe, which she noted with some surprise and disgust. His angular, sallow face was pulled tight by a high, scraped back bun. Narcissa had assumed that he would be properly dressed for the meeting, but Severus seemed to lack formality in his own home.

“We … we are alone, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail’s here, but we’re not counting vermin, are we?”

Severus flicked his wand to a wall of books and a yelp sounded as a hidden door flew open to reveal a narrow staircase and a weasley man. Wormtail wrung his hands, one of which was covered in a gleaming silver glove. Severus sneered at him, and called for some elf-wine before dismissing the other man.

Once the wine was poured into cloudy glasses, they toasted to the Dark Lord. It left a bitter taste in Narcissa’s mouth, but it was necessary. She started to explain her coming there but Severus held up his hand and flicked his wand to the hidden door once more. A muffled squeal followed.

“My apologies. He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don’t know what he means by it … you were saying, Narcissa?”

She took a deep breath and started again.

“Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but -”

“Then you ought to hold your tongue!” Bellatrix exploded, “especially in _present_ company.”

“‘ _Present_ company.’”

Narcissa carefully pinched her right hand pinky between her left hand forefinger and thumb. Draco had found it comforting as a child. Her baby boy. She let out a dry sob, interrupting Severus and Bellatrix. They stopped momentarily before starting again. Narcissa cradled her head in her hands.

A conversation began to play out in her mind between versions of herself. She debated whether or not Severus could actually help. Was Bellatrix right for once?

“-if Lucius hadn’t-”

Narcissa turned to face her sister and lowly said:

“Don’t you dare - don’t you dare blame my husband!”

Lucius was largely at fault, she admitted that, but no one else was to know that. Their honour was slipping. Honour was their only meaningful asset besides money, and it made her very uncomfortable. Severus and Bella were still arguing, but she could sense Severus was winning. He was extremely good with words, which Narcissa appreciated.

Narcissa straightened herself out and mirrored Severus’ body language. She was here for a reason and no amount of distrust on Bella’s part was going to stop her. Severus seemed to sense Bellatrix’s defeat before looking at Narcissa.

“Now… you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?”

Hesitantly, she began to explain. Narcissa was careful with what words she used, legilimency was a great fear of hers. Memories can come back to bite with ease in times of war.

“It... is very secret. But -”

“If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak, the Dark Lord’s word is law.”

Narcissa gasped and froze. This had been her worst fear, while Bella was delighted. Her mirth was clear. Severus moved from his seat to lean against the window frame, he matched his long, black curtains. It transpired that he knew of the plan, the tension in Narcissa’s body was alleviated slightly. He was choosing his words carefully too.

“If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all.”

“Draco should be proud, Cissy.”

Narcissa lost all composure again. Bella would never understand, she wasn’t a mother, she barely functioned as a sister. Bella was wholly devoted to the Dark Lord. Nothing could ever compare.

The three discussed the issue at hand, regularly interrupted by Narcissa’s sobbing. The tiny room wasn't very well ventilated, so the windows slowly steamed up. As the temperature climbed, so did Narcissa’s hysteria. The trio ultimately clarified that Draco’s life was of no value to the Dark Lord, and that Dumbledore needed to die by the end of the year.

Narcissa broke down fully and slumped onto the floor. Severus swiftly grasped her upper arms and guided her back onto the sofa. He took her abandoned glass and refilled it, gently wrapping her fingers round and motioning for her to drink. Narcissa finished the glass and Severus topped it up again.

“It might be possible… for me to help Draco.”

Narcissa spilt a little wine on herself as she set her glass down and gripped Severus' hands between her own. She bowed her head to their hands and kissed them.

“If you are there to protect him... Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?”

Bellatrix gasped behind them. Narcissa knew it was considerable ask. The Unbreakable Vow was ancient magic, the basis of the Wizarding world. Severus looked deep into her eyes, blankly.

“The Unbreakable Vow?”

Words, he was so careful with them. Narcissa heard Bellatrix shriek behind her and voice what she was most afraid of. Severus just spinning pretty words with little substance. Her eyes welled up.

“Certainly, Narcissa. I shall make the Unbreakable Vow. Perhaps your sister will consent to being our Bonder.”

With an astonished Bellatrix Bonding them, Severus Vowed to watch over and protect Draco. Narcissa left feeling ill, but very much relieved. Her son was going to be protected.

No matter what, Dumbledore was going to die. By Draco’s hand or Severus’. He Vowed afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Waterfalls by TLC
> 
> Again we are the worst! Second year of uni is certainly a lot more work than anticipated, and my co-creator is also beginning mock exams for IB. Scary... Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter from Narcissa's pov! It's very close to the original but we wanted her narrative to shine, especially considering the previous chapter. We will be returning to Draco soon though ::))))))))))


	8. If I Ruled The World (Imagine That)

Saturday 24th August 1996

~

_If I ruled the world (Imagine that)_

_I'd free all my sons, I love 'em love 'em, baby_

_Black diamonds and pearls_

_(Could it be, if you could be mine, we'd both shine?)_

_If I ruled the world_

_(Still living for today, in these last days and times)_

~

A week before Hogwarts was due to start, Draco found himself sliding into Knockturn Alley. His business was secret, as were most things now. The complexity of the task his father left him was beginning to show its colours. And by Merlin was it a complicated affair. 

And despite all the _other_ stuff going on, he was meant to keep topping his classes. Draco was an ambitious student, but the pressure of the task at hand was almost too much to bear, and he worried about the attention failing classes would garner.

Narcissa had taken him for some general school shopping; new robes, books and the like. Draco had noticed a queue outside of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop, and for dropout blood traitors, he had to admit that the Weasley twins were doing well for themselves. Well perhaps not traitors, _he_ was a Dark Creature afterall. 

Pushing his way past a group of wizards, Draco groaned in embarrassment as he recalled the incident between himself and Potter while getting his new robes. The constant paranoia of the seamstress moving his left sleeve all the time - possibly exposing his Greyback scar - and the presence of the trio had made him particularly aggressive. 

As Draco stepped into the shadows, he felt a sharp pain in his chest - yesterday, his mother had sat him down and told him that father was in jail. Azkaban. He had felt a guilty sense of relief when the news came - he knew his mother felt the same, even if she wouldn’t admit it. 

Later that night, he heard her sobbing in his parent’s room. Draco sat down outside the door and cried too. 

During their third year, Dementors patrolled school. Draco tried not to think about the conditions in Azkaban.

Draco stood for a moment in the alley - the full moon was coming up and his anxiety was at its peak. Everything felt onerous: he needed to get this job done, visit Eir and Niamh, do some pre-reading for his NEWTs and figure out how to murder one of the most powerful wizards of all time… 

He shook out his cloak and robes before striding down the narrow walkway. 

_There's a killer on the road_

_His brain is squirmin' like a toad_

Draco needed to go to Borgin and Burkes - which made his skin crawl. He sensed someone watching him, but despite looking around, he saw no one. Draco was certain he was smelling someone or something he knew, but he supposed it could be a Death Eater that recently passed through. No need to get antsy, just doing the Dark Lord’s bidding while your father is on a state enforced time-out. 

He swallowed bile as he entered the grimy shop.

Borgin and Burkes was the Wizard equivalent of a Muggle taxidermy come antique oddity store. It had a strange, deeply unsettling atmosphere that left many vowing never to return. But the more savoury types always came back.

The shop had a wealth of information on the more _unique_ enchantments that Wizards across the globe and ages had achieved. Draco was sent to learn how to fix one, a cabinet. It was currently sitting in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. Draco’s kill-Dumbledore-and-not-expose-yourself task also came with some dandy side quests, including fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. Borgin was somewhat of an expert in fixing wizard furniture, it was a pity he an unsavory character. 

The door announced his arrival, which sounded painfully similar to The Glass Onion’s wind chimes. A cluster of shrunken heads watched him as he closed the door. Draco was conscious that he didn’t look like a normal customer. Besides being young, his heavy cloak and slicked back hair signalled wealth. 

Narcissa had talked him through various tactics to get what he needed, and so Draco was conscious not to show any sort of anxiety or repulsion when Borgin appeared from the backroom.

Draco’s heart pounded against his ribcage as the shop owner looked him up and down, a smug look upon his face. Draco understood that the greasy man was expecting an easy sell as he registered Draco’s youth. Draco titled his chin arrogantly in response, trying to give off the impression of self-assurance that only came from great wealth and privilege. 

His hands shook where they were fisted at his sides.

Clearing his throat, Draco kept his voice steady and eyes level with Borgin’s as he explained his predicament. A deep sense of self-loathing welled up in his chest as Draco recalled all the years in which this behaviour came naturally to him; and the damage it had caused.

“So,” Draco drawled, “you know how to fix it?” 

“Possibly…” Borgin was infuriating to deal with, and Draco was beginning to lose his patience as the pathetic man tried to dance around committing to the task at hand. He couldn’t afford any setbacks and Borgin was the only person he could realistically use. 

Draco sighed, and he could feel the pull of the moon in his shoulders. “I just need you to tell me how to do it.” Sweat formed on Borgin’s brow, and he licked his lips in a nervous gesture. Draco was surprised he wasn’t in similar shape.

“... I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

Maybe it was just his upcoming transformation that was making Draco feel so on edge - or his tickling suspicion that someone was watching him - but he was getting sick of Borgin’s half-hearted excuses and desperately wanted to leave. 

“No? Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

Draco stepped towards Borgin lifting his left sleeve, his Bite exposed. Greyback’s name rolled off his tongue. Borgin’s eyes widened in shock as he stuttered apologies, suddenly very keen to help. He regretted it almost immediately, but he needed the extra edge.

“C - can I help you with anything else sir?”

Draco was very ready to leave but he couldn’t leave without _something_ to help his Dumbledore task. Borgin and Burkes was highly likely to have something, but he needed to choose his words carefully. Or perhaps not. Draco spotted a necklace behind Borgin, it had a moth eaten label resting next to it on the dusty velvet: Do not Touch! Cursed. Has claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners to date.

“I’ll take that.”

Draco’s irritation got the better of him when Borgin suggested that he take the necklace with him. 

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.” 

Draco scoffed as Borgin bowed deeply in response before he turned to leave the shop, and he uttered a final, firm word of warning to the shop owner.

Draco felt a great sense of relief as he left the shop, a grim smile plastered on his face as he headed up towards the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley - he’d done it, the plan had been set into motion. As he turned back on to Diagon Alley, Draco was ambushed by a flurry of robes and bags.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy! Son of a Bludger, where have you _been_?”

Draco’s eyes darted up to find Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini at her side, weighed down with various bags of school supplies and clutching a melting ice cream in her right hand. They both seemed to be shocked at Draco’s presence. 

A smirk found its way onto Draco’s face, “Oh you know, just here and there.” He shrugged non-commitantly, trying to keep up a playful pretense. Pansy swore under her breath and shared a Look with Blaise.

Blaise raised their eyebrows in disbelief. “So what, you just couldn’t be bothered to reply to us, to send just one owl, all summer?”

“For Merlin’s sake Draco, we were worried! We sent so many owls to Malfoy Manor we thought someone would demand a restraining order!”

Draco winced, remembering all the times in summer with Eir and Niamh when he had been trying desperately to remove himself from the wizarding world. And in doing so he had forgotten to write to his friends, so deep in depression that he hadn’t even wanted to think about them. 

“I wasn’t at home this summer.” Draco took a deep breath and lowered his voice; “You may have heard already, but Malfoy Manor has been taken over.” 

Draco watched as realisation played across his friends’ faces. Blaise stepped forward to place a hand on Draco’s shoulder, their face grave. Pansy shot Draco an odd look from where she stood. 

“How is that? I mean, have you actually been home?”

“I was, at the start of summer, but then things were getting to be too much…” It hurt Draco, as he spun a vague tale of his summer, to know that if he were to speak the truth, his friends would turn against him. “... so, my mother and I left to stay in some old family manor in Scotland.” 

There was a pause before Pansy spoke up; “I suppose it’s something to be proud of, actually. I mean, I know my parents would be honoured to host the Dark Lord. And to be there at His side throughout the rest of this war…” She tapered off and Draco saw a strange glint in her eye - a kind of reverence. It disgusted him.

Blaise chuckled beside Draco. “Pansy, darling, your ice cream has completely melted.” 

Pansy snapped out of her reverie to look down at her hand, which was covered in the sticky sweetness of melted strawberry and peanut butter ice cream. “Eugh, Salazar. How did this happen?” 

Blaise glanced at Draco with amusement. “Well, seen as we’re all without ice cream - should we go to Fortescue's? I’m sweating like a pig.”

Draco shook his head, “Unfortunately, it’s shut. Florean Fortescue has been compromised.”

“ _Oh_. Well then shall we go to that new bakery that Seeker Weekly reviewed? Sounds like a nice place.”

“Sure then.”

They stopped as they turned to go - Pansy stood staring at the side of Draco’s head. He raised a self-conscious hand to his ear, realising what she was looking at.

 _“What is that, Draco?”_ Pansy hissed. It was unclear how she felt.

“It’s a piercing.” Draco squared his shoulders, defensive.

Pansy shrugged, “Huh. Never thought you were the type.”

Draco let go of a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as Blaise and Pansy walked ahead of him. 

-

Wednesday 28th August 1996

It was with great difficulty that Draco walked into the Glass Onion on that Wednesday morning. Polky had insisted that Draco stay at Yarrow Manor because of the full moon due that evening, but he needed to see his friends. 

He couldn’t yet see Eir or Niamh, but The Score by Fugees was playing throughout the shop, so Draco made his way through to the back room. The musty scent of old records and marijuana was stifling, but now came as a comfort to Draco. 

Eir and Niamh were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the small room, surrounded by piles of vinyls, tapes and CDs. They looked up in surprise when he passed through the fly screen. Draco started to fidget, anxious and aware of the limited time he had. For the first time since he had met Eir, Draco felt distinctly odd standing in his robes in the Glass Onion. 

Niamh was the first to break the silence. “What the fuck are you wearing, Draco?”

Eir couldn’t seem to contain himself, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

“These are my _robes_.” 

“You look ridiculous.”

“Well thanks, Niamh. Feels great.” Draco grinned at his friends. They hadn’t quite grasped the concept of the wizarding world, but Draco supposed that they never truly could. 

“So where’ve you been? I had to handle a drunk Niamh by myself on Saturday.” Eir laughed and ducked away from Niamh’s swatting hand.

“Oi! I wasn’t that bad,” Niamh lowered her voice in imitation, “ _‘had to handle her by myself’_ \- what utter bullshit! You were the mopey one - lost without our Draco.”

Draco barked with laughter, “I was school shopping. Hence the new outfit.” He gestured to himself, pivoting left and right.

“That looks like something from a period drama, not the twentieth century.” Niamh remarked.

“Well the wizarding world, by all accounts, is still stuck in the time before Industrialisation.” 

Eir was sorting a pile of records into a crate. “Fucking weird, that. You’d think it’d be way more developed.”

“I guess you Muggles have needed to make up for all the stuff we can do with our wands.” Draco had explained the term ‘muggle’ to his friends before, but they still looked at him with slight offence and confusion.

Niamh cleared her throat in the silence. And once again, Draco felt a strange sense of unease. He felt torn between the wizarding world - the impossible task he had been given, his family and his lycanthropy - and his ties to the muggle world - Eir, Niamh and all the wonderful things he had connected to over the summer. 

“Sorry - that was a weird thing to say.” Draco offered a weak smile. “I just, um, well - I’m going back to school in a few days, and I just wanted to come and say goodbye. And, I…” He trailed off, wringing his hands. _“I-wanted-to-see-you-guys-before-I-go-cause-I’m-going-to-miss-you.”_ Draco huffed out.

Eir and Niamh were looking up at him with soft expressions, and Draco sensed that they were unsure of how to process what he’d just said. A beat passed before Eir stood up, arms wide as he crossed the room to engulf Draco in a tight hug. Niamh followed suit and shuffled along to hug their legs from the floor - Draco laughed, a sob caught in his throat. 

“We’ll miss you too, you idiot.”

-

Saturday 31st August 1996

The full moon passed without too much issue, and Draco was feeling much better by Saturday. Polky had agreed to a final trip to Newcastleton before Draco’s return to Hogwarts the next day.

Eir flashed him a grin as Draco walked entered the shop, before embracing him with much enthusiasm after Eir’s last customer left the shop. 

“So, what’s up? Still wanting to go ahead with the new look?” Eir glanced at Draco over his shoulder whilst he locked the front door. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t let Niamh down.” 

They both wandered upstairs, Eir was rolling a joint. Niamh had been preparing all afternoon for the evening’s activities. There were semi burnt biscuits scattered around in bowls, and bags of crisps strewn across all available surfaces. Draco noticed the plastic bag full of the necessary items on the kitchen counter and got excited. Finally, the transformation would be complete in time for school. 

Queen was blaring from the radio and Niamh was dancing. In contrast to the stiff balls he had attended as a kid, Muggle dancing was a lot freer. Or rather, Draco suspected, his parents had kept him separate from other influences. As Eir and Draco entered the kitchen, they joined in on Niamh’s boogieing. Draco had mastered the ‘step and sway’, as well as an assortment of limb flailing and jumping combinations.

As Freddie Mercury’s voice faded and the Muggle radio host read out the news, the trio caught their breath. Eir opened the window and lit the joint. They passed it around as they soaked up the late summer sun.

“So, you ready?” Niamh raised her eyebrows at Draco, as she took a final drag on the joint.

“Yeah, I guess.” Draco grinned, blowing smoke out his nose.

Niamh clapped her hands, giddy. “Noice. Let’s get going.”

She grabbed the plastic bag from the kitchen and went into the bathroom, calling Draco to follow her. Niamh wrapped a manky towel round Draco’s shoulders and secured it with a hair bobble. After debating the pros and cons of dyeing his hair in the kitchen vs the bathroom, she shoved Draco into the bathtub. Draco folded his legs and leaned against the tub edge, feeling relaxed and a little excited. 

“Eir, can you bring some crisps? I am starving.”

Eir joined Draco in the bathtub, their legs folded on top of each other. They munched on the crisps and shared a fag as Niamh got to work mixing the dye whilst wearing her Marigolds. 

“Okay I am going to put it on your head now. Ready?”

Draco was more than ready, and let his head rest on the tub edge behind him. Niamh massaged his head with the dye until every hair was coated. 

“Can you turn around, I need to do your eyebrows or you’re gonna look like a tit.”

An awkward shuffle commenced as Draco attempted to move his weighty limbs around Eir and not smear the shower curtain with hair dye. Niamh then proceeded to dye his eyebrows and laugh at his now overly expressive brows. 

Eir leaned over and spiked Draco’s hair up, and they dissolved into fits of laughter. Niamh ran out of the room and returned with Eir’s beaten up instant camera, and captured the two laughing in the bathtub. As Eir smudged the dye onto his face, Niamh took another photo of the three of them. The next half an hour resulted in a dozen photos and a filthy tub. 

Niamh collected the photos and split them into three piles, before hauling Eir out of the tub and rinsing Draco’s hair. As he watched the dye wash away, Draco desperately tried to imprint this moment in his mind forever. It was going to be fourteen weeks of hell before he was going to see them again. He missed Pansy and Blaise, Draco had forgotten how much he needed them before seeing them again in Diagon Alley, but Eir and Niamh were an oasis away from the Wizarding World and the upcoming war. 

“Alright then. Let’s get your hair dried and see what we can do about your face.”

Niamh brushed his hair and dried it with a hair dryer - something Draco had never used before. She sat behind him and Draco felt especially warm and comfortable, like a cat. Eir grinned at them from the sofa. 

“It’s sick mate, really.”

“Yeah but now, the finishing touches!”

Niamh excitedly put the hair dryer down and went to the plastic bag. She flashed an eyeliner pencil and some mascara at them both. 

“Draco, this going to take you from say, Billy Joel, to Marc Bolan during his T-Rex days.”

After a few tears and much blinking, Niamh showed Draco how to lightly line his eyes and apply mascara. He looked like a completely different person, like someone who could go to a Muggle rock concert in Camden. 

“Your Ma is gonna be pissed mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: If I Ruled The World (Imagine That) by Nas feat. Ms. Lauryn Hill
> 
> Song mentioned: Riders on the Storm by The Doors 
> 
> In the words of Ricky Baker: shit is getting real. We hope you liked that, and we're just really proud of ourselves cos it didn't take us AGES to upload this time!


	9. The Mask

Sunday 1st September 1996

~

_M to the A to the S to the K_

_Put the mask upon the face just to make the next day_

_Feds be hawking me, jokers be stalking me_

_I walk the streets and camouflage my identity_

_My posse in the Brooklyn wear the mask_

_My crew in the Jersey wear the mask_

_Stick up kids doing boogie woogie wear the mask_

_Yeah everybody wear the mask but how long will it last?_

~

Draco stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom, still shocked to see his new hair. His mother hadn’t seen it yet, and Draco wondered want her reaction would be — and everyone else’s. 

For the first time since he was eleven, Draco was nervous for his return to Hogwarts. He splashed his face with cold water and ran a bath. The usual thrum of excitement that normally accompanied the end of summer was well and truly dead this time. All that was left were butterflies raging in Draco’s stomach. He sighed in relief as he climbed into the steaming tub.

Polky had packed a combination of Draco’s muggle and wizard clothes into his trunk, along with some of Eir’s ‘special baccy’ and various other wizard things that Draco resented greatly. Who needed a golden cauldron or spellotape when there might not be occasion to use them once the Dark Lord reigns? Just quietly tape up a book spine when Death Eaters cleanse Gloustershire of Muggles and Half Breeds? Draco snorted and relaxed into the bath water. 

Once clean, Draco practiced the Muggle makeup and stowed it in his travel cloak. He heard his mother come to his bedroom door and he anticipated her reaction to his new look. Last night, Polky had stealthily deposited him in his room as to avoid Narcissa, alas, there was no avoiding the inevitable. As Eir stated, Narcissa was going to be pissed. 

“Draco, are you ready? We need to — DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY! WHAT IN MORGANA’S NAME HAVE YOU _DONE_?”

Narcissa took in the black, wavy hair and smudged eyeliner. Her pristine boy was visibly not so, and after all the trouble she had gone to to ensure his survival in the year ahead, she was rather miffed. 

“You are _supposed_ to blend in Draco! Not draw more attention! What would your father say?”

“I don’t give troll’s arse what he thinks!”

“What about everyone else! What about the questions? And the other Death Eaters Draco? They are already questioning our loyalty!”

“What does it matter! I’ll be dead by the end of the year anyway.”

Narcissa sucked in her breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Draco knew he had pushed it too far — Father was in prison and he was basically sentenced to death. He didn’t like hurting his Mum.

“Sorry.”

Draco was roughly pulled into a tight embrace. His mother breathed out, and in, and out again. 

“Just... keep your head down this year. Concentrate and do not fail Draco. Do not fail us.”

-

Hours later Draco’s palms were sweating as he stood outside King’s Cross with his mother, the brick building looming over them. He shook himself before heading inside at a brisk pace, his feet moving subconsciously through the station as he fidgeted with a loose thread in his pocket.

Draco was beginning to seriously regret his decision to have such a drastic makeover when he caught a glimpse of Hogwarts students ahead of him, and had to duck around a corner to catch his breath.

Narcissa knelt down beside him, whispering words of comfort in his ear as she cradled Draco’s head to her chest. Merlin, he felt pathetic. A few moments passed before Draco began to insist that he was okay, feeling like a child as he pushed against his mother’s embrace. Narcissa gave him one last worried look before they headed to the platform, faces grim as they saw the crowd of families waiting to pass through the barrier. 

Draco kept his head down and ignored the vicious looks he and his mother were receiving - the nasty comments muttered under other wizards’ breaths as they pushed through the throng. Everyone knew about Lucius’ arrest, and they all had something to say about Draco’s appearance. Draco was sure they all believed he had received the Dark Mark — sold his soul to a diabolical cause. 

He practically had, Draco supposed, the burden of the task lingering in the back of his mind.

They passed through the barrier in silence and Draco took a deep breath as he opened his eyes to platform 9 ¾. The familiar hustle and bustle of farewells, panic of first years and excited reunions brought a smile to Draco’s face — this was something he had missed. He scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his smile turning into a grin as he spotted his fellow Slytherin sixth years. 

Draco turned back to his mother for a teary hug before muttering his goodbyes and getting embarrassed at the excessive amount of pet names and worries Narcissa expressed. She gave him a final squeeze before Draco, humiliated, roughly grabbed his trunk and headed towards his friends.

Draco’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he approached the small group — he had no idea how they would react, and Pansy had already been shocked enough by his piercing. This time, Vincent made a strangled sort of sound as his eyes landed upon Draco — he looked like a gasping fish as he flailed his arms about. _‘Fuck, Draco’_ was all that Greg supplied. Draco cringed as his friends stared at him in astonishment.

“Well, what do you all think?” He didn’t even try to hide his anxiety — they would see through it anyway.

Blaise gave Draco an apprehensive look, “It er, looks great, mate. I like the eyeliner.”

Pansy scoffed in response. “It looks ridiculous — Draco, _you_ look ridiculous.” 

“Oh — well — fuck.” Draco mumbled.

A moment passed before Draco willed himself to look back up at his friends.

Pansy was smirking at him, mouthed ‘ _I love it’_ and the panicked feeling in Draco’s chest loosened, he chuckled despite himself. Merlin, he had missed her — no one else could build Draco up and cut him down so effortlessly.

Vincent and Greg were still relatively speechless, muttering protests in response to Pansy’s insult. Draco snorted, anxiety still weighing on his limbs like lead, and turned to board the train. He hadn’t spotted Potter yet, so all was well.

They headed towards their usual train compartment, entertained by the various reactions to Draco’s new look on their way. He had to remind himself not to hunch his shoulders the whole time. Once inside the compartment, he slumped into a seat and folded his feet on top of the table. 

Vincent was in the middle of a particularly hilarious recount of his disastrous family trip to Malta when a small third year girl timidly entered the compartment to give Blaise an invitation to something called the Slug Club. 

“What in Salazar’s name is that?” Pansy leaned over to inspect the letter. 

“I don’t know. Some sort of lunch with the new Potions master. Should have better food then Greg’s sweaty sandwiches.”

Draco tried to hide the hurt he felt when Blaise stood to leave for whatever the cursed luncheon was about, and swallowed his pride as he wished them good luck as they left the compartment. Greg gave Draco a sympathetic look.

“You should’ve gotten one of them letters Draco — that Slughorn’ll see.” Greg nodded, his face grave.

Draco bristled, irritated by his friend’s pity. “Oh fuck it all. I couldn’t care less about what some old fart thinks of me.” 

Pansy looked down at her lap, where Draco was currently resting his head, and raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Oh yeah ‘course you don’t. Draco Malfoy, being a Malfoy _and_ the best at Potions - I definitely see why you _absolutely wouldn’t_ be annoyed.” 

“Oh, fuck off Pansy.” 

“Well fuck you too then and get off me.” Pansy shoved at Draco, to which he protested.

“ _Merlin_ , alright! I take it back - just please stop pushing me!” 

-

The bickering and sulking had continued until the trolley witch came around, and they were all sated with pumpkin pasties. The conversation drifted back to holiday stories and speculations about the upcoming N.E.W.T classes they’d be starting that year. No one mentioned the return of Voldemort.

Draco stayed quiet, and his friends had the grace to not pester him.

It was a while until Blaise finally made their return, at which point there was much commotion as Blaise made repeated failed attempts to close the door before toppling backwards into Vincent, the door sliding close with ease. Draco furrowed his brows at the sight of something streak through the air above them, and suppressed a groan as his nose picked up a familiar scent. 

_Merlin_ , Potter was stupid. Ever the master of subtlety. 

They still had over an hour before they arrived at Hogwarts, and Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the idiocy of his rival — what was Potter trying to achieve? Wouldn’t someone come looking for him, eventually? Unless The Weasle and Granger were in on it too — bloody typical.

Draco knew what Potter was expecting — some laughable concoction of evil plotting and satanic worshipping, with a little Dark Lord praising to top it all off. So — to keep up appearances, and to please the Golden Boy — he resorted to some petulant whining about his lack of invitation, interrupting Blaise as they complained about the overload of cheese and chutney sandwiches at the meeting.

“This man seems to have no concept of class — does he know who I am?” Draco inwardly cringed at his tone, but he had committed to it, so he was going to really lay it on thick, just for Potter, even if he could sense that his friends knew something was afoot.

Blaise, bless them, cleared their throat, clearly thrown by Draco’s sudden change in attitude. “Erm, well. From what I could tell, he only invited influential people, or people who are just really good at Potions.” Draco flinched, Blaise’s eyes widened. “Not that you’re bad at Potions! I just doubt he would’ve wanted to invite the son of a convicted Death Eater…” Blaise cringed.

Draco faltered — there had been a time when he had been both of those things. He shifted to lay his head back on Pansy’s lap as Vincent fussed with the window, swearing as the blasted thing refused to open. It still hurt to accept his father’s incarceration, regardless of how much of a bastard his father was.

Draco had taken many knocks to his confidence over the past months, but this was just the cherry on the cake. He was the best Potions student in their entire year — had been since they were eleven — and so this rejection, on top of every other awful thing that had happened, was a hard pill to swallow.

Draco remained hyper aware of Potter’s presence throughout the rest of their journey, his bad smell hung like a dense cloud in the hot carriage. And so, irritated, Draco kept up his bratty act until they arrived at Hogwarts station. He dawdled long enough when getting his luggage together that eventually Pansy, fuming, herded the rest of the gang off the train with an audible; “Fuck it, he’s in one of his moods.”

Draco waited until he was sure they were gone before letting his shoulders slump. He sighed, “For _Salazar’s sake_ Potter I know you’re there.” No response. “There’s no use in hiding, I knew you were in here as soon as you performed your little acrobatics stunt over an hour ago — you’re really not that subtle.”

A moment passed, and Draco was beginning to feel immensely stupid before he heard a barely audible “ _Fuck_ ”, and Potter’s head finally emerged from beneath his Invisibility Cloak. The effect was rather jarring — Potter’s unruly hair and sheepish flushed face seemingly floating above the seats. 

“Jesus, that’s freaky.” Draco muttered. Potter’s eyebrows raised in response, and Draco’s cheeks flared as he registered the distinctly Muggle colloquialism.

“Who are you, and what have you done to the biggest twat of all time, Draco Malfoy?” Potter stared him down from the luggage rack. Draco’s heart beat wildly in his chest — his hair, piercings and use of Eir’s language were pretty fucking huge signals to his change in character. The idea of ‘keeping a low profile’ in the coming year now seemed pretty laughable.

“He’s still here, living and breathing.” Draco raised his hand in mock salute. Potter had the nerve to chuckle. Merlin, what was happening? Whatever it was, he needed to reel it in.

“You gonna hex me, or are you just gonna glare at me until I disappear?” Potter smirked, dimples forming in his coffee-coloured skin. Draco’s neck prickled, uncomfortably hot.

“Oh come off it, Potter.” Draco huffed and moved to grab his bags whilst Potter performed some only mildly oafish maneuvers to get down from the luggage rack. Harry looked at Draco as if he were some sort of unintelligible philosophical conundrum — Draco had to look away, hastily gathering his things. He couldn’t let anything jeopardise his mission, and it felt as though Potter was looking straight through him.

“You’re just leaving? No curses or threats?” Potter said. 

“Uh yeah, Potter. Do you _want_ me to give you a bloody nose?”

Harry rocked back on his feet and took a long look at him before disappearing. Draco followed his ghastly scent out of the train and towards the school. When they rounded the corner, Professor Flitwick was waiting with a quill and clipboard. He raised one eyebrow before smoothing his expression.

“Evening, boys. You’re the last ones today.”

Draco nodded in response before heading towards the carriages. Potter, of course, stopped to chat to the insufferable professor.

Draco scoffed and dragged his bags behind him in annoyance. But it was only when Draco stood at the side of the carriage that he noticed them — great, skeletal horses of a mottled blue and black colour. Their suken, milky eyes were pinned on Draco as he swore under his breath and stumbled blindly backwards in a weird sort of jig. 

“Shitting hell — where did — what the —?” Draco flailed his arms in an attempt to stand straight. A voice sounded from behind him, and Draco jumped.

“You can see them too?” Potter looked at him incredulously. 

“Have they _always_ been there?” Draco gestured behind himself. Potter looked just as surprised, his face a picture of shock and confusion. “Why have I never seen them before?”

“Don’t worry, I can see them too.” A lofty voice made itself known from inside the tall carriage. The boys jolted.

“Fucking hell, Luna.” Potter muttered beside Draco as he moved to climb into the carriage. Draco waited a moment longer before following.

Draco felt as though he were having an out of body experience as he settled himself in a seat opposite Potter and Lovegood. Pansy would be laughing at his misfortune when he reached Hogwarts.

The two friends were hugging each other, Potter’s impish face buried in Lovegood’s silvery hair. And as Harry pulled away, Luna shifted so that she held his face, whispering comfort to him. 

Draco’s heart squeezed as he looked away from the intimate moment. He missed Eir and Niamh, and desperately wished for the mind-numbing calm of his carefully stowed away music.

“So, how come we can all see them?” Draco glanced at Luna, expectant. She seemed to consider her answer, and Draco started to feel anxious as Lovegood’s expression turned sorrowful.

“Only people who have seen someone die can see them.” Draco’s pace quickened. “They’re Thestrals.” Luna patted Potter’s hand. 

Shit. Of course. Cedric. And Sirius. How could he have forgotten? Draco looked across at Potter’s pained expression. And now that Draco was really looking, he could see that Potter’s face was thinner and paler than usual, his nails bitten and his usual confidence dampened. 

Potter was glaring at him, seething from across the carriage. Draco wished he could disappear. 

The tops of trees rustled in the late summer breeze in time with the two—beat of the Thestrals trot. Potter was still staring. Draco turned to him, and instantly regretted his decision.

Harry’s hands were fisted at either side of his body. “Who did you see, _Malfoy_?” Potter spat. Draco squirmed under his gaze. Another moment passed in tense silence. Potter let out a short, irritated exhale of breath. “Did you do it? Get a little thrill?” Draco felt incapable of breathing, his chest sore and tight. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Potter.”

“Oh, I think you do. I bet it was some poor Muggle, some innocent person you couldn’t bear to look at for more than two seconds because you don’t share the same blood.”

Draco was speechless, each word felt like a needle to the heart. “That’s not — how could? I —”

Memories of those awful weeks before his first full moon, when Greyback had claimed him as his own, flooded Draco’s mind. The instinctual brutality of the Dark Lord’s followers knew no ends, and the countless, mindless slaughters Draco was witness to made something twist and ache in his stomach. They had wanted him to join them, permanently, but Narcissa had argued Draco’s value in being at Hogwarts. He was extremely grateful.

His breaths were coming out in short, shallow pants. He clutched at his chest. Draco barely registered Luna laying him down across the seats, her soft voice muting the all-encompassing pain. Draco thought he was dying.

“You’re not dying. It’s just a panic attack.” Luna looked down at him.

The trees thinned as they made their way up the hillside. From this position, Draco could see the stars, all the constellations. Sirius burned brightly against the velvety black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: The Mask by Fugees
> 
> So Draco is finally at school! From the frying pan and into the fire. Sorry it took a w h i l e to upload, this is a true slow-burn. Thank you for sticking with us and we hope you enjoy this chapter! :)))
> 
> Also, we haven't mentioned it in a while but we have a playlist that you can listen to! Its called 'i never sleep cos sleep is the cousin to death' (original, we know), use the url below!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1qqia456w776txH3tXRnjs?si=n3k7107BRD6DQPAPWkq4Ew


	10. Superstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new school year has started, and between friends, lessons and expectations, Draco's struggling to keep himself in check.

_~_

_I know you think that you've got it all_

_And by making other people feel small_

_Makes you think you're unable to fall_

_But when you do, who you gonna call?_

_See what you give is just what you get_

_I know it hasn't hit you yet!_

_Now I don't mean to get you upset_

_But every cause has an effect! Uh-huh!_

_~_

Sunday 1st September 1996

The first few hours back were absolutely humiliating — never in his entire life had Draco felt so utterly pathetic.

Draco’s hands had been shaking when picking at his dinner, and he wasn’t able to meet anyone’s gaze when his friends had asked what happened. Draco couldn’t bloody well tell them that _Luna Lovegood_ had held onto him until his breathing evened out and his chest stopped burning, nor could he tell them that he was a fucking werewolf who—

“Fuck.” Draco muttered to himself as he made his way to the dungeons. His eyes were burning again, and he could feel eyes following him as he stalked along the tall corridor.

It shouldn’t really bother him, Draco supposed — why should he care about what anyone thought of him? But everytime he caught eyes with someone gawking at him in the corridor, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Potter had said something.

Fucking Potter.

Despite their mutually awkward but respectful interaction on the train, Potter hadn’t even been able to look at Draco when he had jumped out of the carriage like the seats were on fire. He truly thought that Draco was a murderer, and the weight of it had been resting on Draco’s chest ever since. Frustrated, he swiped at his eyes before turning the corner to the common room entrance.

He made his way to the dorm and slumped on his bed. The day had been very long.

“Oi! Draco! Want to come and play chess?”

Draco shook his head into the pillow and mumbled a “No”. His exhaustion was overwhelming and chess wasn’t going to remedy it. Vince and Greg carried on playing and noisily exchanged sweets and bits of gossip. Thankfully, Draco heard nothing about himself — though they would have told him first.

N.E.W.Ts were starting and schedules were due tomorrow. As well as his first official day of attempting to assassinate Dumbledore. Draco breathed in through his nose and sighed into the bed before getting up and unpacking his trunk. The walkman and cassettes were quickly stored in his designated sock drawer, as well as his eyeliner and mascara. He hid the rest of his muggle items and grabbed his wash stuff. A hot shower was needed.

In the bathroom Draco started the shower and sat under it’s stream. When researching werewolves over the summer, he also began learning about Muggle theories about animals. Surprisingly, he had found it very useful. Him, Eir and Niamh had watched documentaries together about the natural world. They would smoke and then snuggle up on the couch and gaze at the wildlife on the screen. It was following a programme about hippos — a terrifying non-magical animal — that he learnt about the deep-dive instinct. Draco found that running water was especially calming for his affliction.

As his fingers became increasingly wrinkly, Draco hummed the tune to Octopus’s Garden. His reverie was broken when a loud knock came from the door, followed by Blaise’s voice.

“Draco, can you hurry up? You’ve been in there for ages now, there’s not gonna be any hot water!”

Draco chuckled, “Not my problem!”

-

Monday 2nd September 1996

“Get up, Goyle!” Draco waited a beat, his hands on his hips. “Merlin — you’re fucking useless you know.”

Draco threw open Greg’s bed curtains and whacked his arse through the duvet. A yelp escaped the lad before he replied: “Merlin’s beard Draco! _Leave me alone!_ ”.

“He’s still asleep? Greg get your arse out now, we’re going to miss breakfast and getting our timetables.”

Blaise was perched on the armchair in the room watching the boys pull on socks, comb hair and straighten robes. Their sharp eyes pierced Goyle’s duvet and they sent a sharp gust of icy wind with a swift flick of their wand.

“FUCKING HELL, BLAISE! I GET IT!”

Goyle angrily grabbed his duvet from the floor and stormed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself. Draco smirked at Blaise. These had been their respective roles since first year. Blaise comes in early, Draco then attempts to get Goyle out of bed before Blaise resolutely removes him from it.

Soon they were all sitting in the Great Hall enjoying hash browns, eggs and beans. Draco sipped his tea, missing Eir’s extensive herbal tea collection. Soft thuds sounded around the hall as the morning post was delivered. The wonderful thing about the first morning of the year is that everyone receives post, as the timetables are delivered by owl.

A tawny school owl landed near his mug, depositing an envelope. Draco fed it a bit of hash brown before reaching for the envelope as the owl flew off.

“Do you have Potions today, Vince?” Draco glanced up from his new timetable.

“Urm, yeah I do. I might drop it though, not sure if I am going to pass.”

“Oh really? But you did well last year.”

“We both know that's because you helped.”

Draco huffed but didn’t contest it as he recalled the long hours he had spent with Crabbe to ensure him a decent grade. They both knew that he would’ve failed otherwise. Still, Draco couldn’t help his disappointment at being abandoned by Vince to be alone in a classroom full of Gryffindors.

-

As much as Draco was dreading Potions alone, Defence Against the Dark Arts was a close runner up for Worst Class. It was another Slytherin-Gryffindor group with no other than the Golden Trio themselves and the absolute ignoramus Harry Potter. But, Snape was teaching this year, so Draco was comforted by the promise of favouritism and the humiliation of Gryffindors.

As Snape glowered at the incoming students, Draco took a seat at the back of the classroom with Pansy, cackling about the new decor — Snape was really letting his disturbed, emo heart show with the dark, twisted portrayals of torture and death that lined the walls.

“He’s going through some kind of mid-thirties angst moment, I guess.”

Draco scoffed, “He’s been going through an angst moment his entire life.”

Pansy let out a yelp of a laugh, and several neighbouring tables gave them murderous looks. Up front, Snape was giving the rest of the class a particularly dramatic speech about the ‘ _indestructible_ ’ nature of the Dark Lord’s forces. Wow, way to be subtle.

Snape was slowly making his way towards their desk, his eyes trained on Draco whilst he discussed Inferi with the rest of the class. As he came closer, Draco felt as though there had been some kind of penetration of his mind — as if some growing vines were trying to wrap themselves around his thoughts. He tried to push against it, putting all his energy into trying to fight the invasive tentacles off until the pressure on his mind suddenly disappeared, and the Professor turned away to belittle Granger.

Draco had seen the Dark Lord practice Leglimancy on unsuspecting Death Eaters over the summer, but he never thought for a second that his professors could do it. It was an obscure and forgotten branch of magic, and it sent his mind into overdrive. What would happen if Professor Snape had seen his transformations? The task? His muggle friends? Being silent wasn’t going to be enough, he needed to protect his mind.

“What a suck up.” Pansy muttered, interrupting his inner spiralling. Draco cackled in response, trying to not breathe like a heffalump. His leg bounced beneath the table.

“Good one Pansy! Yeah, such a know it all. _Loser_.”

Draco cringed at his loud and rambunctious tone. For fucks sake, he sounded like an 80s muggle teen in a John Hughes film. Pansy stared at him but didn't say anything. Draco brushed his hair back and tucked it behind his ear. In a few weeks he would need to dye it again.

Snape whipped round the classroom, lecturing in his nasal voice about the task at hand for the day: non-verbal spells. Their N.E.W.T exam would entail some non-verbal spells and tasks, and with growing tensions, there were added expectations of practicality. You couldn’t very well take out your opponent while yelling what your next move was, it just wasn’t helpful when duelling.

They were instructed to partner up and practice jinxes and the protego spell in silence, which most people took to be whispering. Pansy and Draco moved to the back of the classroom and lazily began to practice. They both knew that it would take a while to master and that Snape wouldn’t bother them if it took a few lessons. Hermione of course, managed to do it within twenty minutes. Draco watched Potter relax against the wall as Weasley failed miserably with each attempt. He was gently giving Ron some pointers on technique, a practiced teacher after last year’s DA meetings. Draco wondered if he was going to continue them, he had to admit it was an ingenious idea.

Snape walked past him and Pansy towards Potter and Weasley, and Draco anticipated a fall out — as Snape was looking particularly tetchy.

“Pathetic, Weasley. Here let me show you—” Snape began to flick his wand when Harry cried, “ _Protego!_ ”. The force of his shield forced Snape to stumble back and hiss as he collided with a desk.

“Do you remember me telling you we were practicing non-verbal spells, Potter?”

“Yes.” said Potter stiffly.

“Yes, _sir_.”

“There is no need to call me ‘sir’, Professor.”

A couple gasps escaped people’s mouths as Snape bristled, his bat-like robe seemed to puff out. Pansy whispered in Draco’s ear, “Someone’s gotten too big for their boots.”, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Detention, Saturday night, my office.” said Snape. “I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter … not even _The Chosen One_.”

 _‘Chosen One’_ rang in Draco’s ears as he walked to Potions. Potter truly was The One that everyone was talking about. Not just surviving The Dark Lord’s attack when he was baby, but the one that the prophecy mentioned. The prophecy that The Dark Lord obsesses over. Draco was sure that not many other people would understand the weight of those words that Snape said, but he did.

Draco waited outside the Potions classroom and rolled a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked since he last saw Eir and Niamh and so decided it was finally time to break into his stash of muggle wacky baccy. After class he would go to the owlery and climb on to the roof and smoke. Good plan.

Potter appeared round the corner and Draco turned his back to him, tucking the fag behind his ear. He didn’t need to cause any issues in this class, and avoiding _The Chosen One_ was a smart way to go about it. Draco didn’t need to be told that him on his lonesome in a class of Gryfindors was a bad idea, but he loved Potions, so it was worth it.

Needless to say that Potions was a massive disappointment as Slughorn was completely enamored with Potter despite him not having any supplies. What made it sting even more was Potter somehow had become a potions whiz over the summer and bested him and Hermione at the first task the professor had set — a miracle! Draco was furious by the end of the lesson. He had wanted to win so badly, not just because he knew he could — potions afterall, was his best subject — but because a spot of Felix Felicis would be very helpful when trying to murder the likes of Dumbledore.

After, Draco sulked off to the owlery and climbed over the battlements onto the roof. Behind a spire, he sat down and lit his cig with the end of his wand. From his bag he pulled out his Walkman and headphones. ‘Rumours’ by Fleetwood Mac filled his head and he relaxed.

-

Saturday 7th September 1996

By Saturday, a sense of relief descended upon the castle. Which was fair, as the first week back at Hogwarts had been fucking shambles in Draco’s not-so-humble opinion.

Everyone was on high alert, and it seemed like every other house thought that all Slytherins were murderous supremacists. Which was just ridiculous, and Draco worried for the first years and the abuse they’d receive. Of course, there was some sort of truth in the rumours — obviously, Draco’s own family were heavily involved — but they were children, for Merlin’s sake, and he highly doubted that anyone in the younger years were very clued up on the inner workings of the Dark Lord’s plans.

He was on his way to the Library to hide from Vince during a game of Hide and Seek. Pansy had turned her nose up at their childish antics when Blaise had suggested it, and Draco had only accepted to give him an excuse to hide away for the rest of the afternoon.

Madam Pince gave a short nod in Draco’s direction as he entered. He actually had been spending a lot more time here compared to usual, wasting away his evenings in the name of ‘Studying For N.E.W.Ts’. In actual fact, Draco had been trying to find a moment of peace in a quiet corner at the back of the vast room — away from any unwanted social interaction.

Draco was very rarely disturbed, and anyone that did stumble across his hideout were not the sort of people to question his Walkman and earphones. It was risky, but Draco didn’t care — he needed the calm the music brought. From his spot Draco could look out across the valley — and watch the try-outs on the Quidditch pitch. God-damn, he missed Quidditch.

Draco sighed and pulled his feet up, resting his chin on his knees. He had tried to act as though nothing was wrong, but nothing could change what had happened over summer, and nothing could ease the burden of Draco’s task.

A clatter of books behind him made Draco jump and whip around his seat, wand raised. Almost forgetting, he hastily ripped off his headphones.

“Galloping griffins!”

Draco lowered his wand as he registered that his attackers were in fact two sheepish Hufflepuff students that looked to be in their fourth year.

“What the fuck are you doing spying on me?” Draco had lowered his wand, but still had his guard up.

“We weren’t spying, honest! We were just urm, well. We just wanted some alone time.” The girls both turned a deep shade of scarlet.

A moment passed before Draco got their meaning, and blushed in return. “Oh wow, okay. Urm. Have fun, I guess.” He turned around and tried his hardest to quell his awkwardness and find calm in Carole King, but the embarrassment continued to grow until Draco stood to shove his belongings in his satchel and clear the area.

In his haste to get away, he forgot all about their game of Hide and Seek until he saw Vince approaching him from further down the corridor.

“Haha! I’ve got you!”

Draco cursed under his breath before turning to sprint around the corner from his friend. “No you bloody well haven’t!” He yelled breathlessly, barking out a laugh as he ran past some bewildered looking first years.

“That’s cheating! I found you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARGH its been fucking ages since we uploaded! But now we're at home in quarantine and can write without any school work (final exams have been cancelled!) or distractions. We hope everyone's okay at the moment - look after yourselves!
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all the lovely comments - we don't often reply, but we really appreciate them!
> 
> Song: Superstar by Ms. Lauryn Hill


	11. Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In summary:
> 
> “Are you going for some sort of record, Draco?” Pansy gave him an incredulous look.
> 
> “You’ve got to make the most of Sunday Lunch, Parkinson.” Draco raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t make the rules.”

~

_There is no pain you are receding_

_A distant ship smoke on the horizon_

_You are only coming through in waves_

_Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying_

_When I was a child I had a fever_

_My hands felt just like two balloons_

_Now I've got that feeling once again_

_I can't explain you would not understand_

_This is not how I am_

_I have become comfortably numb_

~

Sunday 8th September 1996

It was a generally accepted fact among Hogwarts students that Sunday was the best day of the week. Draco loved the lie-ins till eleven, and the brunch that — for him, at least — consisted of too many hash browns and beans, coffee and tinned peaches. Most students had been to Hogsmeade on the Saturday, so they could lounge around in common rooms or by the lake with their Honeydukes chocolates and sweets until after tea, when there would undoubtedly be a mad rush to finish homework last minute.

At this time of the year, Draco and his friends liked going on walks throughout the grounds to soak up the last of the summer sun. In their second year, Pansy had found a secluded beach area behind the castle where they spent many hours jumping in and out of the freezing water or lying starfish-like on the bank.

The late Sunday lunch was something that could end all wars, Draco thought. All hostilities or arguments were forgotten over the course of the roast dinner. The meat was never dry, the gravy was never in short supply, the Yorkshire puddings were never burnt, and the rich cauliflower cheese was an absolute miracle to behold. And this year, to his delight, Draco was able to consume more than twice the amount he usually did due to his werewolf metabolism and appetite. So, after two full plates of roast, he treated himself to two helpings of sticky toffee pudding with extra butterscotch sauce and vanilla ice cream.

“Are you going for some sort of record, Draco?” Pansy gave him an incredulous look.

“You’ve got to make the most of Sunday Lunch, Parkinson.” Draco raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t make the rules.”

Blaise agreed through a mouth full of ice cream and brownie, and Draco grinned in return. Pansy rolled her eyes and bit down on a smile as she took another spoonful of custard-coated crumble. “So, how long do we think Snape’s gonna last as the Dark Arts teacher?” She asked. “I mean, the others have only ever lasted a year. If that.”

“I reckon he’s gonna last the year. He’s practically in a relationship with Dumbledore, so he’s got that going for him.” Blaise smirked into their mug of Horlicks.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Blaise…” Pansy covered her face with her hands, failing to hide the tell-tale shake of her shoulders.

Draco grinned as he tried to scrape the last dregs of butterscotch sauce from his bowl. “Well, it’ll be good for us while it lasts.”

Vince nodded, pointing his spoon at Draco. “Yup, and he’ll definitely be giving the Gryffindors hell this year too, which’ll be fun.”

Pansy made a grunt of agreement, and Greg began to recount some incident with Finnigan he’d had earlier that day. Draco’s cringed — it didn’t seem fun to watch others getting bullied anymore. And it was with a certain kind of clarity that Draco realised just how incredibly pathetic it was to laugh at a fellow student getting bullied by a _teacher_.

Draco knew how his friends would react if he told them the truth about what had happened over the summer, and the anxiety hung like a rain cloud at the back of his mind. They couldn’t ever find out, it would be detrimental to Draco’s whole future if anyone actually did. And, if he was correct about his suspicions of Snape being a Legilimens, then he needed to learn how to defend himself. For present and future use. Maybe he should send a letter home, get some help from his mother over the half term? Yes, he would send his mother a letter after they finish their tea.

Draco listened to his friends whine about the Gryffindors for a little while longer, his heart not completely in it when he offered up his own insulting remarks. But thankfully, he was spared continuing the conversation as the food soon disappeared, and they stood up to leave.

A slow-moving mass of students formed as they all tried to leave the Great Hall, and Draco’s hope that they could put their reputation of being Scary Sixth Year Slytherins to use was swiftly dampened as they shuffled along with the rest of the crowd.

But alas! Things actually could get worse, and Draco’s heart sank as a lofty voice made itself known behind him.

“Hello Draco, I hope you’re feeling better.” Draco turned around to find himself face to face with Luna Lovegood. Draco groaned, painfully aware of his friends staring.

“ _Merlin_ , you could’ve just tapped my shoulder or something.” He hissed. “And yes, I’m okay, so, you know — _you can leave me alone now_.” Draco let out a breathy laugh.

“Panic attacks can be very serious, you know.” Luna fixed Draco with a firm look, her eyes kind. She didn’t quite seem to be getting the message.

“Yes, I’m sure they can be.” Draco turned back around, willing the conversation to end.

“I can show you some techniques to help.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You know, it’s rude not to look at someone when they’re talking to you, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco sighed and glanced up at the ceiling, wishing he could just disappear. He was becoming very irritated by the pitiful looks his friends were giving him.

“ _Salazar_ , I don’t need your help! I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t serious and it probably won’t happen again, so yeah. Thanks but just leave me alone, okay?”

“Oh, okay.” Lovegood looked relatively unfazed as she turned away from Draco and towards the rest of the Ravenclaws. Draco sighed in relief.

“Well that was fucking weird, care to explain yourself?” Blaise clamped their hand down on Draco’s shoulder, making him jump.

“Uh — _well_. I was feeling a bit shit on the ride to school, and now Loony Lovegood’s absolutely convinced herself that _I_ have fucking _anxiety_. What a joke.” Draco gave a half-hearted chuckle, shrugging off Blaise. “Let’s just get back to the dorm, I’m tired.”

“Right. Are you sure that’s all it was?” Blaise looked genuinely concerned, and Draco hated it.

“Yes, I feel fucking brilliant, she’s just crazy is all.” Draco spat.

Blaise put their hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! I was just worried — it’s okay if you’re not always feeling ‘ _fucking brilliant_ ’. You do know that, right?”

“Yes, I get it — okay? Good. Lets go.”

-

When they got back to their dorm, his bed looked so inviting, Draco wanted to cry. It had been a trying evening, and he did not need to think about his feelings, goddammit!

But he had to write back home and ask his mother about learning Occlumency. So, Draco took the next best option and stashed some of his tobacco and papers into a satchel alongside his writing equipment. He ignored his friends and their confused looks and left the room with a mumbled “Going to the Owlery.”

The trek up to the Owlery was obscenely long — and involved far too many stairs. Draco made his way up to the tall tower in less than ten minutes, his breath coming out in short, shallow pants and his heart pounding in his temples.

The musty, barn-like scent of the circular room had become something of a comfort to Draco over his years at Hogwarts, and he felt his simmering anger fade to exhaustion as he found a windowsill to perch on.

The breeze was warm against his skin, and Draco let go of the tension in his shoulders as he began to write the letter for his mother. Their letters had never been very heartfelt, and this was no different. Draco tried to keep his reasons behind needing to become an Occlumens vague and related to The Task — to whatever and whoever he may have to deal with. He didn’t mention his panic attack.

Draco found his owl — a large, tawny eagle owl Narcissa had picked out for him during their trip to Diagon Alley — and attached his letter to her leg. “It would be very helpful if you could make this a quick trip, Nuwanda.” The owl ruffled her feathers, snapping at him until he gave her some treats. “For fucks sake, could you go now please?” She squawked at him one last time before she took off, visibly taking her time about it.

Draco didn’t feel like he could face going back to the dorm, and so returned to his spot for a quick cig. He didn’t like that he had almost come to rely on them, but there was something undeniably calming about the process of constructing and puffing on a fag. Niamh had taught him to blow smoke rings, and he had been trying to wordlessly shape the rings into animals for the past couple weeks. This time, he could’ve sworn that the rings resembled a misshapen star.

“That’s impressive.”

Draco almost fell out of the open window, his heart jack-hammering against his chest as he dropped the half-finished cigarette. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He muttered under his breath, not wanting to see who it was that had caught his doing something so distinctly Muggle-ish.

“What do you mean?” Draco tried to keep his voice level as he swung his legs around to see the intruder.

“Did you learn to do that over the summer?” Luna asked, her face innocent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco replied, defensive.

“Blowing smoke rings. It’s very difficult, my father prides himself on being able to do it.” Luna leaned in conspiringly, “But I’d say that he’s actually not as good as you.”

A moment of silence followed. Draco realised that there was no way that he could pretend nothing had happened, and so decided that since Lovegood was relatively harmless, he would just go along with it. With caution.

“My friend taught me how to do it, but she’s way better than me.” Draco watched as Luna walked over to a mottled grey, scraggly looking owl to pet it. “I’m trying to make the rings turn into different shapes.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Is it? Most wizards and witches would say it's improper.”

“Well, I think it could be very beautiful.” Luna wandered over to the windowsill and sat across from Draco. “And what a beautiful sunset, too.”

Draco followed her gaze to look out onto the valley, the mountains a harsh silhouette against the blended shades of pinks and oranges. The surface of the lake rippled as a soft breeze sauntered across the landscape. Draco often resented that he was so accustomed to the view, because it genuinely was just so beautiful, and he almost never took a moment to appreciate it.

“I wish I was artistic, so I could paint this.” Draco sighed.

“My mother used to paint wonderful abstract portraits.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “She did?”

“Yes. Absolutely gorgeous.” Luna paused a moment. “I used to watch her work at her easel, she always used bright, bold colours. So vibrant and strong.”

Draco frowned. “Where is she now?”

“Oh, she died when I was little.” Draco looked over at Luna, her face strangely serene. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

Draco felt distinctly uncomfortable. He didn’t really know what to say — he hadn’t ever experienced losing someone he loved, so Draco doubted that anything he said could be of any help.

The following silence felt awkward and oppressive. Draco hadn’t ever talked to Luna, and before their fifth year, he had barely even noticed her. Draco knew about her involvement in the DA of course, but besides that, he didn’t know anything beyond the cruel comments other students would make from time to time.

Draco took a deep breath. “Does it get easier with time? I mean, of course the hurt never leaves you, but — you know.”

Luna didn’t respond.

“Sorry, was that insensitive?”

“It’s fine, I’m not offended.” Luna turned to meet Draco’s gaze. “I guess that losing someone is like losing a part of yourself. So, even though you’re always trying to find it again, you learn to live without it and grow stronger as time goes on.”

They sat in silence for a while, the cold setting in on the otherwise warm evening. Draco considered Luna for a moment before speaking.

“Luna, how come you helped me the other day? You know, when I was panicking?”

Luna seemed confused, “Because you were really struggling, Draco. Of course I would help you. Wouldn’t you help someone in a situation like that?”

Draco felt attacked, as if Luna were trying to undermine him. Because, if he were honest, he didn’t think he would’ve helped if it were the other way round.

“Maybe.” Draco felt awful, what kind of a shitty person was he? Merlin, he just wanted to crawl into bed and hide under the covers for eternity. Because of fucking course it would be so simple for Lovegood, she was there at the Ministry in June, she was a _good person_.

“Are you okay, Draco?”

Salazar, he just hated the way she was looking at him, like he was some sort of pitiful creature that needed saving.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Draco recoiled in shame at his clipped tone — she was just trying to help. But Merlin, he did not need her pity. “Look — I’m sorry if I was ever nasty to you, but I don’t need your sympathy. I’m doing just fine as it is.” What a fucking lie, wow. He stood up hastily, beyond ready to leave this disaster waiting to happen.

“Draco, I don’t —” Luna began, but Draco was already stepping through the door, his thoughts running a mile a minute, not hearing whatever it was that Luna had said.

Draco took the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing. Shame clouded his vision, his legs felt like lead, panic was beginning to take hold. He kept his head down as he stormed down the corridor, ignoring anyone he came across. A few jeered at his new look — but he had never been popular, so he was used to it.

Draco tried to focus on his breathing, the way his feet moved almost subconsciously towards the dungeons. He’d always loved how Hogwarts was truly a home to all — even those who didn’t deserve it. He certainly didn’t.

God, it was like his mind was truly trying its hardest to make it seem as though everything was against him. It was as if all rational thought had been pushed aside. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Draco to breathe.

Draco wasn’t paying attention as he turned a corner and ran straight into someone, causing him to get a faceful of armpit. And, consequently, a whiff of some truly awful BO.

“What the fuck, Malfoy? Watch where you’re going!”

Draco straightened up to come face to face with none other than The Chosen One himself, Potter. Jesus, could he catch a break? It was like the whole word had been against him that evening. Draco wanted to say something — anything — but it was as if he’d lost the ability to form words. His head felt like it was shrinking, and his chest was painfully tight.

“Oh — for God’s sake — just fuck off, Potter.” Draco huffed.

Harry eyed Draco as if he were some kind of alien. “What the fuck is up with you this year? Running about the place like you’ve got something to hide?” Harry squinted at him, “I’ll find out what it is, don’t you worry.”

Draco desperately wished his heart would stop pounding the way it was, so that he could try and put up more of a fight.

“Well — have fun with that.” Draco could barely get the words out. “You tell me in Potions if you find anything interesting.” He mock-saluted Potter as he turned to continue his journey back to his dorm.

He didn’t get it, wasn’t Potter supposed to be all for peace and prosperity for all? Why did he continually have to antagonize Draco just for the hell of it? Of course, it was usually the other way round, so Draco had to admit that it was no surprise that Potter would act like that.

Draco was just tired of all the stupid school drama and feuds, the ‘rivalry’ he had concocted between himself and Potter. As if he was even on the same playing field. No one would care about him after all was said and done. He’d just be painted as the prejudiced, murderous supremacist. Not to mention a crazed, blood-thirsty werewolf. Draco was most definitely destined for a lifetime in Azkaban, just wishing for a Dementor to go too far, to end his suffering.

A painful lump formed in his throat. Draco felt completely helpless as he finally reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He took a moment to calm himself, managing to stop the tears from falling before he walked in.

A few students greeted Draco as he made his way across the room, and he half-heartedly returned their friendly waves. By the time he reached his dorm, his panic had almost completely subsided.

Draco opened the door to find the others sitting in a circle in the centre of the room, sweets and puzzle pieces strewn across the floor.

“Oh, hey guys. What’s going on?”

Blaise gave him a Look. “We were doing a puzzle this evening, where were you?”

“I told you, I was at the Owlery.”

“Uh huh. Sending a letter home doesn’t take _that_ long.”

“I was taking my time! I had a lot to write home about.”

Blaise looked unconvinced. Vince and Greg shared a look, grinning at each other mischievously.

“I bet you’ve got some bird we don’t know about.” Vince declared, his voice dripping with amusement.

Draco scoffed. “Uh — no. I most definitely do not ‘have a bird’, Vince. I was just taking my time.”

“You were taking your time with your hand up someone else’s shirt though, weren’t you?” Greg cackled.

Draco groaned. “Why are you like this? And what makes you think that I was getting with someone on my way back from the Owlery?”

Blaise laughed, “‘Cause you’re all flushed, and your hair’s messed up.”

Draco threw his arms out, “I ran! Get your heads out the gutter, for crying out loud. Wow.”

“Aaaaw Draco, did we hit a nerve?”

“Oh fuck off, all of you.” Draco grinned, his cheeks burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are coping well at the moment! We are fine and apologise for our less-than-satisfactory uploading "schedule".
> 
> The beginning of this chapter was fun to write - we love food. What's your favourite quarantine comfort food?
> 
> Song: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd


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